


dance with me under the lights

by Moniposa



Series: Take my hand and we'll glide [1]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Ballroom Dancing, Dancing, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Personal Growth, Rival Relationship, Unrequited Love, competitive ballroom dancer au, y'all ive been reading way too much 'sweep over the dance hall'
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-28 23:34:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 50,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6350143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moniposa/pseuds/Moniposa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marinette Dupain-Cheng is no stranger to the competitive dancesport scene; training since she was five, it's been her dream to compete in the Grand Prix and become a world-renowned ballroom dancer. But then Adrien appears - a dancer who is just so much better than her that she's not sure whether to respect him or fear him. Soon enough, he asks her to team up with him after his own partner leaves him in the dust, and her relationships with ballroom dancing and Adrien begin to change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. unconventional upbeat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 5/2/2016 edit: this is probably a rly bad time to do an edit but i've decided to age them up two years - seventeen instead of fifteen - to not make future events seem too weird?? everything's the same, but now they're a lil older :>

Today’s the day, Marinette thought with a confident hum. Today’s the day.

Today was the day she and her partner, Nathanael, had been preparing for - France’s National Amateur Dancesport Competition.

She glanced at the boy next to her and he gave her a gentle yet encouraging smile. A smile that said, ‘we’ve worked hard, we can do this’, and her eyes lit up in return.

He was right; months of rehearsals, coming to the studio after school, and cold baths had finally led them to this moment. If they won, or even placed in the top ten, they would move up to A-rank, and finally be good enough to compete in the Grand Prix. They were so close, already B-rank, but they needed to be their best to win.

Tightening her grip on her bagged dresses, she stepped forward into the venue with Nathanael.

It seemed so much smaller than she remembered.

When she had come a few years ago, she had been just a spectator who was assigned by her coach to come to the competition and see how the big competition scene was. She was so young and everything was so big - the benches, the crowds, the judges, and even Nathanael who had come along with her. It all seemed to loom over her like a leaning tower, and she felt so small in comparison. She was in awe of the other dancers and how they didn’t seem to want to freeze on the dance floor under everyone’s gazes.

And now here she was as a competitor. Marinette had been dancing since she was five, and was sure that she wouldn’t freeze on the dance floor because of everyone’s stares. She had many other competitions under her belt, that the atmosphere was so familiar to her.

Walking into the place where dancers were expected to prepare for the preliminaries, she saw a free area among the dancers who were getting ready and sat down, unzipping her duffel bag and laying her dresses on top of it.

She looked over at Nathanael who had sat down next to her and saw that, as always, his timid nature had been left at the door. He was a completely different person when he was in the zone, and it made dancing with him and interesting experience.

Marinette smiled, recalling how he had approached her when she was twelve years old, wanting to become her partner.

She was practicing in front of the mirrors at the studio during her free time, wanting to quicken her chassé reverse turn to make it as sharp as possible. Marinette noticed that he was standing in the doorway, almost as if he wasn't sure if it was appropriate to enter or not.  With a patient smile, she asked him what he wanted without looking back at him.

With a surprising amount of energy, he burst into the room, stood next to her, and asked her if she would be his partner. She could still remember the ferocity in his blue eyes - it was something she had never seen before, not even when he was in his dancing zone. 

And she was sure she wouldn't see it again anytime soon.

Marinette didn't hesitate in saying yes - she had been wanting to partner up for ages, but wasn't sure what kind of partner she was looking for, and who she would even pair up with. Boys were hard to come by in the dancesport scene, and Nathanael was one in a million.

He looked incredulous with her lack of hesitation - he blinked a few times before asking 'really?' in a softer voice. She laughed and replied again, 'yes'. His fervor had completely vanished and with a confident smile, he nodded at her before leaving her back to her rehearsal, and they had been partners ever since.

Although Nathanael was only two inches taller than her, they still made their partnership on the floor work by stretching her as far back as possible so he seemed wider and taller than he actually was. Nathanael continuously apologized for his lack of a growth spurt, promising that he would drink more milk, but she simply smiled. She didn't mind, really. It was all training her to become a better dancer.

And now was the time to put that training to the test once again.

She slipped the dress out of the bag. It was one of her many favorites - a blue and white tulle off-the-shoulders dress that gave her the illusion of having more hips than she really had (not that it bothered her, nope, no sirree, not at  _ all _ ). She had to shuffle the other dresses inside the bag, needing the other two later for the slow foxtrot and the tango where the shorter dresses were necessary for more movement. 

Marinette didn't mind that she had to change in front of all these strangers. One couldn't be shy in these competitions, in manner of dress or dance. Plus, there just simply weren't enough bathrooms to accommodate every single dancer.

"Nathanael, can you finish zipping up my dress? I can't reach it." Luckily, her short hair was up in a bun so he didn't have to brush aside any pesky stray hairs. 

But of course, her hair wasn't just in any bun. Like any competitor, her looks were just as important as her dancing figure. Her fringe was also stylized to look like bejeweled snakes were moving towards the bun, snaking towards the halo of black hair that framed her face delicately. 

"S-sure," he replied, zipping up her dress with a satisfying 'snick'. He was momentarily zapped out of his dancing zone to deal with her overwhelmingly female presence. 

Even though he had danced with her for five years, he had to see her go from an innocent twelve year-old to the graceful seventeen year-old she was today, and Nathanael still wasn't totally used to it. 

"Thanks."

Marinette turned her attention to her face, not wanting to apply the heavy makeup that was the norm for female dancers, but knowing that makeup was also central to bringing a look together. She ended up finding some sort of middle ground with her natural looks and the makeup flair, like always.

" . . . try anything funny like last time - it's awful being thrown around like a rag doll, Adrien," a voice screeched out over the other commotion. It didn't bother anyone else; it was just a quarrel between partners. But for some reason, the proximity of the voices (literally walking towards her) made her glance up in the middle of drawing her eyeliner wing. 

The beautiful swish of a sunset orange nylon viscose dress made her glance up at the couple walking by, and was totally unprepared to see what she saw next.

Chloe Bourgeois and Adrien Agreste, the A-rank amateur duo that has been praised in the dancing magazines as having the most promise of reaching professional level, were walking right past her.

She caught Chloe's gaze by accident and was met with a completely venomous gaze. It made her blood run cold, and then begin to furiously boil.

"Nathanael, hold me back before I throw my heel at her," she hissed out, her eyes narrowing at the sashaying figure.

"Huh? Marinette, have you lost your mind? You can't do that!" Nathanael was absolutely mortified, trying to keep anything and everything throwable out of reach.

Before she could pick up her shoe, her eyes met with Adrien's. He blinked, then smiled apologetically for his partner’s behavior. The apology was so genuine that her mind blanked for a solid ten seconds.

Before she could even respond to him, he was out of sight, his coattails already too far out of sight to catch up to.

"What a pair; they're just like oil and water to me," Nathanael murmured, giving the couple a last glance before turning his attention to his crooked bow tie.

"Yeah, but they're A-rank oil and water. Somehow they've made it work this far," Marinette replied, watching the figures blend into the crowd.

Now they really had their work cut out for them - the Bourgeois-Agreste team was sure to catch the judges' eyes if they were in the same heat as them. 

Oh God, what if they were? Would she and Nathanael advance through the preliminaries at all? This wasn't just a competition she wanted to win; Nathanael was the one who suggested they enter this particular national competition, even though there were plenty of others in the near future they could have done, too.

All this worrying was making her fidget, and Marinette knew it would make her muscles all twitchy if she didn't stop it - it was no good to go on the dance floor with unreliable muscles. 

"I'm gonna go check the assignment sheet to see what heat we're in." She got up and strode over to the sheets stapled onto the cork board without waiting for Nathanael’s reply.

Just like any other competition, dancesport has preliminaries, quarterfinals, semifinals, and finals within a single day. Because there are so many dancers in this particular competition, several couples are made to go at a time, called a 'heat'. She checked that there were fifty couples here, so ten couples would go in a heat. Only thirty would go on to the quarterfinals, fifteen to the semifinals, and seven to the finals. 

Competition would definitely be stiff here - France’s National Amateur Dancesport Competition, now being held in Paris, was the most popular if one really wanted to rank high enough to go to the Grand Prix. She noticed a few fellow B-rank competitors, like the Hapréle-Bruel team, and even the older Barbeau-Césaire pair. Of course they would all be here, though; it was every amateur's dream.

It was definitely her's and Nathanael's dream.

She sighed. They were so close, and yet so far.

She checked on the board for their number, twenty-two, and saw that they were in the second heat for the waltz. Marinette then looked for Bourgeois'/Agreste's number, fourteen, and saw that they were in the first heat. She breathed deeply with relief. At least they wouldn't have to deal with that duo just yet.

And speaking of, their heat was just about to begin in a few minutes, so she decided that she could watch them dance to really see what they were up against. Nathanael would come eventually, so Marinette wasn't too worried about losing him.

"First heat for the Waltz," the announcer called out as the ten couples lined up along the edge of the dance floor.

Out of all the couples, Adrien and Chloe stood out the most. There was an arrogance to Chloe that made the other competitors seem small in comparison, and Adrien stood proudly, blond hair slicked back and green eyes gleaming - it made him look irresistible. Paired with each other, they were unstoppable.

Could anyone else hear her heart palpitations?

She didn't even blink when the music started.

Dancers only had two minutes to showcase everything that they had to impress the judges enough to move them to the next round. But it isn't just about flashy moves and variations - being solid in the basics is just as important, because if one can't show the judges that there is grace in an outside turn, then they won't give a pass for it. 

Marinette didn't even have to glance at the judges to know that Adrien and Chloe were getting full checks for everything.

Her eyes were totally drawn to their dancing, but she couldn't help it; the way that they moved completely outshined the other dancers.

Every step, every variation was done in quick succession to the point where it looked like Chloe was barely touching the ground. Adrien's spins made her dress swish so that she was as soundless as she looked. But there was a slight disconnect to how they danced - Chloe wanted their steps to be more grand, to overtake the dance floor so that the attention was only focused on them, but Adrien wanted to show off their skills by keeping her controlled, making their swings count with their force and power. Adrien still framed around her moves beautifully. He was giving more than taking, and it still looked like he was the leader - totally in control of their movements.

It was odd - an A-rank couple surely shouldn't have this kind of forceful disconnect, but the moves were so subtle that only people who had been watching them longer than one dance could pick it up.

Marinette wasn't necessarily proud of it, but she had seen them dance many, many times. 

Their studio was only a few blocks away from her's and Nathanael's, so of course walking by it and seeing them dance occurred occasionally.

It had been happening as of late that their thoughts weren't matching up like they used to. Chloe had grown more ambitious, trying to catch up to Adrien, and he didn't know what to do with her recklessness.

Oil and water.

Yet even with that disconnect, they still moved like a pendulum across the floor - an unreachable grace.

Marinette couldn't be shaken because their heat was next.

"What's wrong?" Nathanael brushed up next to her and quirked an eyebrow at her.

"It doesn't matter. We just have to try our best," she said mindlessly, looking up at him and giving him a small smile. She grasped onto his arm and waited for the announcer.

And she was right; it didn't matter. She knew how they danced, and it would definitely move them through the preliminaries.

"Second heat," the announcer called.

Once the music started, it didn't take them long to find their space and start the moves that they rehearsed.

One two three, outside spin, hesitation. Marinette felt herself reacting to Nathanael's steps, even if he made minuscule changes to the choreography, she was his shadow. It all felt so right.

And simultaneously so wrong.

Marinette noticed that she had to lead him on a few occasions; Nathanael was pushing her to showcase her footwork and the sharpness of it. It was something that he always had her do, and she accepted it fully, but now it felt wrong. They were judged based on the leader's proficiency, but what were they supposed to if she was the one standing out more? 

She never noticed how unconventional their dancing was, but as her thoughts passed by Chloe's and Adrien's dancing, she now knew how much they truly stood out.

As the music swelled to a stop, Nathanael spun her away so they could bow to the judges and the audience.

Her breathing was shallow from the exercise, and her face and neck were sweaty with exertion. Marinette looked up at the ceiling, the crisscrossing metal rods protecting the glass windows seeming so far away from where she was.

"Marinette, are you okay? You seemed a bit out of it - even your steps sometimes faltered." Nathanael was genuinely concerned, unaware of the confused, jumbled thoughts going on in her head.

"I guess I'm a bit shaken up from seeing Adrien and Chloe - don't worry, I'll be fine for the foxtrot." She gave him a reassuring pat on the forearm before moving to her changing spot, already pulling out her other dress.

Luckily, they had moved on to the quarterfinals, and so did the Agreste-Bourgeois team as well.

Similarly to the waltz round, they were one heat away from their graceful competitors and again, she noticed that her dancing seemed off compared to theirs. But this time, it didn't bother her as much, and she completed the round without a hitch. Marinette could see Nathanael visibly sigh in relief, glad that whatever funk she was in had dissipated.

It was almost unbelievable to them that they were now in the semifinals, one of fifteen other teams that could possibly move on to the finals and move up in rank. Nathanael had told her that on his way to the bathroom, he had heard murmurs about him and Marinette probably being one of the few teams able to rival Chloe and Adrien, and that if they made it to the finals, then it would definitely be a match worthy to see.

It made Marinette's heart swell with pride that their dancing could be compared to the acclaimed 'dream team', and that they would be their equals, definitely able to compete in the Grand Prix.

In the semifinals, they would be dancing quickstep, which was like foxtrot, except the man closes his feet more often, and chassés, lock steps, and quarter turns were more present.

The heats were smaller - five people a heat for a total of three - and being on the same dance floor as Chloe and Adrien was inevitable. When they lined up on the edge of the dance floor, Chloe was right next to her and shot her a sneer. More than anything, Marinette wanted to return the gesture, but Nathanael's grip on her arm told her otherwise.

Once the music started, all thoughts of Chloe flew out the window. This time, she didn't focus on the fact that their dancing was different because now she had to focus on her own steps. Even though everyone was moving so fast, they had trained enough to avoid others, and with a bit of luck, they hadn't bumped into anyone.

The smile that they had to present when they danced came more naturally to her, and she felt herself jumping along with the music, the turns and small hops making her feel as light as air. Whenever Nathanael spun her, she was always wearing that winning smile - the one she knew judges would always comment on as the 'brightest thing in the room'.

With a final kick that lifted her dress, the music stopped and the applause reverberated throughout the room. Nathanael spun her again to bow to the crowd, and she did so; even her bows had a certain elegance to them.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Adrien was unabashedly looking at her, his chest heaving with exertion. Although the quickstep was a lively dance, always performed with a smile, he looked entirely serious as he studied her. She didn't know why he was looking at her, but it sent shivers down her spine. 

Marinette and Nathanael quickly moved off the dance floor and waited in the wings, nervous for the results to announce which pairs would move on to the final round.

Miraculously, they moved on! They were one of three B-rank couples to move on to the final round, the other couple most notably Myléne Hapréle and Ivan Bruel - the ones she had seen before. They were notorious for their quick and easy foxtrot, despite their sizes.

But now, they were doing the tango - Marinette’s favorite.

With sweat still pouring down their faces and backs, they lined up along the edge of the dance floor. It felt surreal that they had gotten so far, and were now competing in the last dance among A- and B-rank competitors, and Marinette felt beyond blessed. A squeeze from Nathanael's hand to hers told her he felt the same way.

When the accordion began to trill, Nathanael and Marinette immediately snapped into their dancing position, hips against hips, and her torso pulled back from him - she looked like a bouquet of flowers springing from a vase.

Every movement was so sharp she was sure she could feel their bodies snicking like a pair of scissors. Whenever they could, they glided across the dance floor with big, successive steps; her dress tickled her thighs as it trailed behind them, desperately trying to catch up with their powerful movements. 

Their faces were completely serious, but that was required of the tango - it was a passionate dance, a physical conversation between two lovers. Every time their faces were within a close enough distance, Marinette would look up at Nathanael through her lashes, and he would lean down as if to kiss her, but they would immediately move into a step that would have them throw their heads sharply to the side, continuing the dance.

The move they performed next had been something they had been perfecting for months - after he did a twist on his toes, he would dip her until she was at eye-level with the tops of his hips, and she extended her leg en pointe. It created the illusion of a woman slowly dying in the embrace of her lover.

There was a surge of applause after she was twirled back into position, their strides becoming front and center on the dance floor.

Soon enough, the two minutes were up and Marinette was twirled one final time to bow to the audience and judges. She could feel that their attention was divided, but she smiled nonetheless.

They were probably also clapping for Adrien and Chloe - how could they not? She was sure that their dance was extremely sensual.

As all the dancers shuffled off of the main floor, Marinette stood off to the side, trying to catch her breath and recall if her steps were just as she rehearsed them - did her reverse pivot look clean? She hoped so - it was something she sometimes struggled with if she didn’t focus. She was drawn out of her thoughts with the sound of a sharp slap against skin.

Quickly turning towards the sound, she saw Adrien with his head turned, tenderly touching his cheek while Chloe had her palm up. Her eyes were beyond furious.

" . . . I could've fallen . . . don't win . . . through . . . " she hissed, watching her voice so it was low enough that Marinette couldn't catch the entire conversation.

Something must've happened on the floor that she didn't notice. How could she? She was so preoccupied with showing the passion and sharpness of their dance that she had blocked out the other dancers. It had felt as if it were just Marinette and Nathanael back in the studio, although she was now starting to feel uncomfortable with how they danced.

Even though it wasn't really her business, she hoped Adrien was okay.

He seemed to hold his own, though, as he whispered angrily in response.

Nathanael caught her attention as he tugged on her arm, his blue eyes coaxing her to sit down and breathe while the results were being painstakingly tallied.

Eventually, the announcers finally had the results, and everyone waited in anticipation. The winners were called forth in order of how they were placed from first to seventh.

Marinette and Nathanael placed fourth.

Adrien and Chloe placed second.

When the dream team wasn't called first, Marinette's jaw was so close to dropping in disbelief.

In any competition they entered, they were for sure to win first place - it was a given. What had happened?

The competitors that ended up placing first were A-rank duo, Kim Gangjeon and Alix Kubdel. They had somehow managed to sneak up on the second place winners, most likely due to their smooth movements on the dance floor - many had called their moves similar to 'gliding on a newly-waxed ground'.

Marinette and Nathanael bowed and smiled as they were given their trophy, genuinely glad that they had at least placed in the top five. Either way, they had scored enough points that they were now moved up to A-rank. Finally!

Marinette noticed that it took all of Chloe's composure to stand and smile as she accepted a trophy for a place she never wanted. Once the formalities were over, she strode out of the door as Adrien clasped his hands behind his neck and blew out air in frustration.

Once again, their eyes connected and it seemed like he wanted to say something to her. His green eyes swirled in confusion as he opened his mouth to speak, but Marinette's blue eyes widened in surprise and she quickly moved away, unsure of what to do if he spoke to her.

Even if he was in second place, he was in a different place than her - totally out of this world. Even if she had moved up in rank, she felt like they were still a long ways from Adrien's and Chloe's range. Somehow to Marinette, that meant speaking to each other was totally out of the question.

Nathanael didn't protest when she dragged him back to their corner. She had already begun to gather her things in flurry, tossing cosmetics back into their respective bags and quickly unzipping her dress to shove it back into the bag with the rest.

"Marinette, hey," Nathanael said, waiting for her to turn to look at him. He still had his suit on, and she had just shoved on a pair of shorts and a tank top.

"Yeah?"

"We finally did it," he grinned.

"Yeah, we did," she smiled in response. Her muscles visibly unclenched as she moved towards Nathanael to hug the heck out of him. His arms curled around her, and they felt more relaxed than they had been since they walked through that door.

"Let's get some dinner - I'm starving," Marinette told him, now shuffling the rest of her things in her duffel bag at a normal pace.

As Marinette’s mind drifted between thoughts of mac and cheese and the difference between her’s and Adrien’s dances (and his odd looks), she wasn’t totally synced up to what Nathanael was thinking about, besides food. Although Marinette had been so preoccupied with her own thoughts about their dancing, she didn't notice that Nathanael had been preoccupied as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry if anything written here isn't totally correct about competitive ballroom rules and regulations - i took some liberties with some dancesport technicalities for writing's sake and i just wanna say sorry, lol.
> 
> anyway!! i haven't written in a while so i hope this'll get my old bones creaking again with these adrienette cuties :''^))


	2. body contact

Marinette was back to the old grind, whittling down the wooden floors with her heels at her dance studio as if the competition of a few days ago had never happened. It didn't really matter, now that it was over - she had to focus on the upcoming youth competition that would give her and Nathanael more practice on an official dance floor.

Right now, she was in the middle of her shadow practice, dancing in front of the mirrors and working on the quick succession of arm and leg movements for her rumba dance. Her coach, Mademoiselle Bustier had encouraged her to make the movements cleaner and more curved, now that she had the basic moves down.

Mabé (it was a nickname Marinette had given her coach when she was little - Mademoiselle Bustier was just too much of a mouthful) began to move towards the door to deal with whoever was there. She left Marinette to practice in front of the mirrors. Marinette imagined that if Nathanael was in front of her, how would she position her leg? If her hand was positioned over his shoulder in one way, how would her leg curve over his hips? Her practice skirt fluttered with each sudden movement.

"Marinette, you have a visitor - you can take a break," Mabé called out to her, turning the music to a gentle waltz as she worked with her other students.

Now, Marinette made sure that her life was never full of too many surprises - too little, and her life would definitely be boring. Too many, and she would constantly live life on her toes, and dancing already did that for her. So she tried to keep some sort of balance, just like she did with her makeup.

But she knew that surprises big enough to last a lifetime were something that would happen, even when she least expected them (if she did expect them, they wouldn't be surprises, now would they?), and she just had to take them in stride.

Adrien Agreste walking into her dance studio, asking Marinette's coach if he could speak with her was one of those surprises, but she wasn't sure how she could take it in one go, let alone take it in stride.

She brushed down her skirt nervously, hoping that she didn't look too much of a mess. Actually, that's just ridiculous - of course she was going to look a mess because she'd been practicing, but that didn't change the fact that  _ the _ Adrien Agreste was going to see her like this.

Her hair was in a ponytail instead of their usual pigtails, so it swished at her neck as she turned to face the boy standing in the doorway and walked towards him.

"Um, hello," Marinette murmured. She looked down at the wooden floor before gathering her courage enough to look him up in the eyes.

Adrien looked a little high strung, but other than that, he looked like the perfect picture of composure. It kind of rattled her.

"You're Marinette Dupain-Cheng, right?" he queried, quirking an eyebrow at her. 

Now that she was up close to him, his eyes were kinder than she remembered. It was one thing to have him apologize with those eyes, but to have them focused on her with genuine curiosity made her even more nervous of his presence. Oh jeez, she hoped he couldn't see the blush that she was sure was on her face.

"Y-yup, that's - I - yeah that's me," she stuttered out, trying to calm her nerves before she sounded even more like an idiot.

"I'm not sure if you know me, but I'm Adrien Agreste; I practice at the Françoise Dance Studio a few blocks away. I remember seeing you at the last national dancesport 'comp - I'm sorry for the way Chloe acted. She's usually a lot to handle, but that day was way too much," he laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Well, what's done is done. And she's your partner, so you have to deal with her more than I do. I should be apologizing to you," she replied, this time her voice more composed. It seemed that when she talked about Chloe, she didn't feel nervous, but rather, she was angry and wanted to express that as well as she could.

"Ah, well she broke up with me, so she's not my partner anymore . . . " his voice trailed off as if it were something embarrassing to admit.

Marinette blinked, her mind blanking out for a few seconds.

Wait, she broke up with him? It must've been hard; being dance partners is basically like being married. If she broke up with him, that must mean she felt that their dynamic was unfixable.

But there's no way - the dream team was supposed to take over the Grand Prix and show up the rest of the dancers on the floor. How were they supposed to do that if they weren't the dream team anymore?

And why was he telling her this?

"I'm . . . sorry," she finished lamely, unsure of what else she could tell him. 'Good riddance'? That made her seem like a truly horrible person and a bad sport - Adrien and Chloe were supposed to be her threats, her rivals when it came to winning the Grand Prix. If they weren't going to be there, it would be a smooth ride to victory, but was that really what she wanted?

"Don't apologize; we were falling apart for a while, so it was only a matter of time before she dropped me." Adrien shrugged nonchalantly, sounding almost relieved that they had broken up.

If anything, Marinette expected him to leave her and not the other way around.

"I don't mean to sound rude or anything, but why are you here, telling me all of this? Not that I dislike it or anything, but I'm just very confused." 

Marinette didn't expect him to show up at her dance studio, much less tell her about his partner woes. So what was he here for? They had never spoken to each other before today so it just seemed extremely odd to her.

"Wow, I - I must sound like some creepy guy, right? You can probably tell that I didn't plan this out all the way." When he laughed this time, it sounded airy and full of confidence.

"Plan what?" Now it was Marinette's turn to quirk an eyebrow curiously at him. What was he talking about now?

"I wanted to ask you if you could be my partner? I know we haven't talked much, but I feel like we'd fit really well together." Adrien's smile looked like it could light a thousand candles.

She didn't pause before answering a quick and succinct "No."

Marinette turned her back on him and went back to face the practice mirrors, going back to the routines she was working on.

Was he mad?! Working together as partners - what was he talking about? Sure, she admired the way he danced, but that didn't mean she wanted to dance  _ with _ him! They were on two different levels; maybe if she was his equal, she would have considered his offer, but that just wasn't the case for right now. Didn't he understand? He saw her dance at the competition -  _ surely _ he knew how different they were.

"Wait, hold on - no? How come?" Adrien had now been driven out of his rejected stupor and moved to where Marinette was, standing next to her as she did her shadow practice.

"Even if you think we would work well, I don't. We dance differently and I don't think it would mesh," she said, flicking out her arm and watching in satisfaction as he ducked to not get hit.

"I saw the way you danced at the competition. I haven't seen a follower quite like you, and I think I could be your leader," he continued, even as she spun away from him.

Marinette almost scoffed, but she held herself back. "I don't know how well you were watching the competition, but I already have a partner. Nathanael," she said, driving her point home by positioning her arms so it seemed that she was dancing with Nathanael. 

This time, Adrien blinked as if that problem had just occurred to him.

"You really didn't think this through, did you?" Marinette wanted to be angry more than anything, but she did think the look on his face was really funny. A small laugh escaped her lips before she snapped back into the serious, composed face she had before.

"We can figure that out later - he wouldn't really care, would he?"

"Adrien!"

Somehow he managed to slip past her and he inserted himself into the dancing frame she had created. He slid one hand to the upper part of her back, and the other hand into the hand she was holding up. 

"You sneak," she muttered, not wanting to raise her voice. They had already attracted enough attention from the other students with the routine they were pulling off - Adrien trying to talk to her, and Marinette dancing angrily yet gracefully away.

Marinette didn't want to admit it, but the way he held her felt so different than how Nathanael held her. While Nathanael was still somewhat hesitant and gentle in how he touched her, Adrien was firm in his grip, not hurting her, but supporting her. She felt that if she were to fall back, he would catch her without hesitation.

She was also used to being at eye-level with her partner, the distance between she and Nathanael always being too close for comfort. Yet with Adrien, he was at least half a head taller than her, so she had to stretch her neck to look at him. So this is what it felt like to be with a proper dancer, she thought in fascination.

Still; she had been practicing and dancing with Nathanael for years. She wasn't going to leave him just because some A-rank dancer was asking for her hand.

"We can make something work. Please," he murmured, his eyes desperately searching hers.

Marinette pulled away from him, feeling as if she had been burned. He let go of her reluctantly and stepped back, slightly embarrassed about his actions.

"I'm sorry, I just . . . can't," she said in finality, her eyes meeting his. Her blue eyes were like an ocean, calm waters pushing and pulling across the shore. Contrary to hers, his green eyes were much more murky, akin to an evergreen forest experiencing fog.

"I see," Adrien replied after a moment of silence.

Marinette turned back to the mirror and tried to not focus on the defeated boy beside her. It wasn't her fault that she had a partner she couldn't abandon. Besides, Nathanael chose her. Out of everyone else in the area that danced, he chose her. She couldn't disrespect him by partnering with another guy - that just wasn't right.

A tiny part of her, though, was yelling at her, saying that that was just an excuse to not pair up with Adrien. How he danced at the competition and how she felt about it were valid. Deep down in her heart, she knew that being with Adrien would better her as a dancer, but she wasn't completely sure why she wouldn't take the bait.

She heard the door close behind her as Adrien left, and she heaved a huge sigh of relief, her stiff position changing to a relaxed one.

"It's getting late, Marinette. You should get going," Mabé called out to her as she was saying goodbye to the rest of her students.

"Alright. Thank you, Mabé." Marinette decided to just change her shoes and put a sweater over her practice clothes. She just wasn't in the mood to shower and change in the studio right now; she could hold off until she got home, and it would be fine.

"That was the young Agreste, correct? What was he talking to you about?" Mabé let her red hair loose from its ponytail, shaking out the copper strands before turning her attention to her student.

"Yes, he wanted to be my partner. But don't worry! I told him no - I already have Nathanael, and it wouldn't be fair to him if I suddenly switched on him," she replied forcefully, trying to convince herself more so than her teacher.

"Oh? I actually think it would be splendid if the two of you were to become partners. He's just what you need to bloom into your full potential." Mabé gave Marinette a mischievous grin before she began putting away dance shoes and practice skirts.

"Mabé! Are you telling me that I should leave Nathanael, too?" Marinette couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"I'm not saying you should leave Nathanael, but you know I'm right," she said, giving Marinette that stern look she knew so well.

She sighed. "Yes, that's true. I just don't know what to do." She slung her duffel bag over her shoulders and began to move towards the door, hoping that the bike ride home would clear her mind.

"Ballroom dancing is all about connecting with your partner, and feeling the music not only pass through your body, but through theirs as well. If you can feel that with one person and not the other, is it really a choice of deciding who?" Mabé patted Marinette on the shoulder before she went back to closing up.

Marinette looked up at her coach and then down at her hand clenching the duffel bag strap. She was still trying to process her teacher's words on the journey home.

The ride didn't clear her head like she hoped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter isn't as long as the first one, but this is usually the amount that i write in a given chapter; i'm just trying to get back to the grind
> 
> also! i'll try to update at least once a week (?) we'll see how this goes and if college lets me - crossing my fingers.
> 
> and i've decided that marinette's theme for this whole fic is landslide by fleetwood mac - you'll see what i mean by that soon  
> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


	3. breakaway

"What do you think about competing in the Junior Ulrich Dance Competition that's coming up in the next few weeks after the one we’re competing in soon? It's an open thing, and we can do some more practice on the rumba and cha-cha-cha on a bigger dance floor," Nathanael asked, looking up at from the salmon burger sitting in front of him.

Nathanael and Marinette decided to have dinner after rehearsal before heading home. They tried their best not to eat out too much, but they weren't really in the mood to deal with the homework that was waiting for them at home. It was a terrible form of procrastination, but they couldn't help it - it was now a habit.

But the dinner wasn't going how it usually did. It used to be a very easy-going affair, but Mabé kept on shooting Marinette looks throughout their rehearsal, telling her to think about the conversation they had the other day. She would shake her head in return, and she tried her best to turn Nathanael so that he couldn't see the silent conversation that was going on behind his back.

At one point, Marinette considered leaving early by claiming she had stomach cramps, or even that her mother needed her at the bakery this instant for deliveries. Just about any excuse, semi-plausible or not, she had considered using just so Mabé would stop  _ pestering  _ her. 

She was already frustrated because this was the first time she had danced with Nathanael since the competition, and it didn’t go like she had hoped it would. Marinette thought that the feeling of - of that “not right-ness” would have dissipated, now that she didn’t have to see Adrien’s and Chloe’s dance. But it actually came back tenfold, and she didn’t know what to do about it. Whenever she misstepped in their choreography, Nathanael would correct her and ask if she was alright, but she would smile in return and tell him she was fine. What was she supposed to say? ‘This doesn’t feel right’? He would have asked how to fix it, and she wouldn’t have known how to respond.

Marinette always had an idea - a quick-fix to everything. Every problem had a solution; that much she was sure of. But when it came to their dancing, to the position of their feet, and the combination of their weights, she didn’t know what it was she needed to change, or if anything even needed changing. This problem utterly stumped her.

Because how do you fix something when you don’t know what’s wrong?

Whenever that feeling of misplacement came to her, Adrien’s words would always come back to her, as much as she didn’t want them to. But what stuck with her more than his words was that split second when they were partners. Their height differences didn’t feel out of place. His hands curved around hers felt as natural as breathing, and it frustrated her beyond belief.

She didn’t need him on her mind while she danced - her own problems were distracting enough.

Even with Marinette’s weird clumsiness, Nathanael was still kind to her. When they finished rehearsal, Nathanael offered the idea that they should go eat at the diner that was close by instead of going home straight away. Marinette hastily agreed, wanting to leave the studio as soon as possible. 

But now that they were sitting in a booth, Marinette was deathly silent as she picked apart her chicken salad. She did not wanting to remember the offer that Adrien made her, the words her coach imparted on her, and the way that she and Nathanael danced today, but they kept on bothering her anyway. Again, she had the feeling that how they were dancing was wrong, but she couldn't put a finger on exactly why.

"I don't know, I mean . . . I think we should be focused on tweaking the routine we have for the quickstep. You keep on kicking too far back and it's just something that needs to be fixed for the youth competition," she said, looking at the freckles on his cheek rather than looking him straight in the eye. Marinette thought that if she looked at him, he would be able to see that she was not totally focused on the conversation.

He paused before pushing his plate to the side and setting his hands flat on the table.

"Marinette, we need to talk."

"About what?" Since she was still in that awful thinking rut, the warning signs weren't going off in her head. 

If she was really focused, she would have noticed that Nathanael had  _ never _ said 'we need to talk' when they were together. Their problems had never gone so far to the point that Nathanael had to actually say something. Usually if they were having some sort of issue, Marinette always fixed it before he had to say anything, and he was just fine with that. But right now, she was completely out of it and wasn’t focusing on the problem that was going on between them.

"Well, you've been out of it since the last competition. You said there was nothing wrong, and I thought it was just some kind of funk you were in that day . . . but the thing is, you haven't snapped out of it," he said quietly, carefully choosing his words before laying them in front of him.

"I'm fine, we just need to practice is all," she replied, taking a sip from her glass of water.

"You're doing it again! It’s just - I've been doing some thinking, and," he paused, unsure of whether to say the rest, but then deciding to finish in a rush, "I think we should break up."

Marinette paused, holding her fork that had speared a piece of chicken before she set it back down on the plate. That had snapped her out of her stupor.

"Break up? Nathanael, we're so close to reaching the Grand Prix. We've just made it to A-rank. That's just - it's just ridiculous. You're not serious," she laughed, finally looking up at him to search what was going on in those cerulean eyes of his.

"But I am being serious. You're not the only one who's noticed that our dancing isn't the same as it was before. Admit it: we're just not working anymore."

And there it was; that same look he had when they were twelve years old, and he had asked her to be his partner. That same ferocity Marinette wasn't sure if she'd ever see again. But the crease in his eyebrows, the stern line that his mouth was making, and the broadening of his shoulders was so apparent, so mature, that she had to lean back. It was blinding.

"Okay, I've noticed that our dancing isn't the same as before. Our dancing is different; we have a dynamic that can't be copied, but that doesn't mean we're not working anymore," Marinette argued, searching his face for any sign of hesitation, but she couldn't see it. She couldn't see it, and she was now panicking.

"At the competition, I saw the way you were looking at Adrien and Chloe. It was almost like . . . like you were longing for what they had. And I know you wanted to do what they did, because when I held you in my arms, you were so hesitant," he confessed, his eyes distant from the memory.

"I was nervous; I told you that," Marinette continued stubbornly, but her defenses were slowly getting weaker with each observation he voiced.

"That's what you said, but you don't get nervous on the dance floor, Marinette. The way we moved wasn't how we practiced at all, and that was for every dance. And I could feel it even more when we shared the floor with those two." 

Nathanael waited for her to counter him again, but she felt like she was stripped bare in front of him, everything that was wrong with her for the past few days finally being spoken aloud. She didn't know what else to do. If she said anything else, he would know that she was lying. He had already seen all he needed to know with those inquisitive eyes of his.

"It's better if we find other partners. And if it doesn't work, we can get back together. It isn't permanent," he told her softly, looking at her bowed head. Marinette wasn't crying, but she felt so defeated that she wanted to.

When Marinette didn't reply, he sighed and took out his wallet, setting down the money to pay for their meal. Even when he was breaking up with her, he was still the perfect gentleman.

Nathanael looked at Marinette when she put her hand on his.

"Nathanael, remember when we were kids and you asked me to be your partner? You chose me. Out of everyone else, in that studio, on that block, in the city, you chose me. Does that not matter anymore? What about the Grand Prix?" She was now grasping at straws, and it looked pathetic, but she didn't know what else to say.

"Of course it matters. The Grand Prix still matters, but now you can choose someone else to dance with. Someone that makes you feel right," he replied, giving her one more smile before leaving her alone at the booth.

Marinette felt numb, confusion swirling around her thoughts as she looked at the empty seat across from her. And then the entire conversation came back in a rush, and it hit her so hard that it drew the breath out of lungs.

She had danced with Nathanael for five years, and she didn't know how to dance with anyone else. He was the only person who knew that whenever she did a flick, her foot would always come out at an angle. That whenever he dipped her, he had to put more pressure on her back because her balance would tilt over.

"Oh, God," she murmured, pressing her hands over her mouth and nose.

She had to leave before she had a breakdown in the diner.

Marinette slid out of the booth as quickly as she could and tried not to run out. But once she hit the doors, she sped over to her bike, hopped on, and pedaled furiously home. 

She didn't think that Nathanael would leave her, just as Chloe had left Adrien. She thought that their partnership was so solid that nothing could have separated them. But it was her fault, it was all her fault. If she hadn't wanted so desperately to dance like Adrien and Chloe, she wouldn't be where she was now. She wouldn't be trying to get home before tears spilled out because her partner decided to dump her at a diner.

Now what was she supposed to do? What was supposed to happen to her dreams?

When she got home, she basically threw her bike inside the garage. She hoped her parents wouldn’t ask her about it, but luckily, they were busy with some cake and pastry orders that she didn't have to see them as she went upstairs. Whenever they were busy, Marinette knew she had to stay out of their way or else she was going to get run over. As much as they loved their daughter, they couldn't help it if their bakery was busy - they tended to go on autopilot because of it.

When Marinette had finally made it to her room, she sunk to the ground in front of her door, a heart wrenching sob breaking out from her. She wanted to hold it back so bad. Her mom told her that if she could smile through any kind of pain, then she could survive anything afterwards.

"Come on, you can do it," she tried so hard to smile, but it kept on coming out as a painful grimace. She could fail at being a terrible partner, but she couldn't fail at pushing through her problems.

Tears kept on sneaking past her eyes that it became difficult to hold them back. Eventually, she let out a frustrated cry and got up from her spot on the floor.

And she began to dance.

One, two, three,  _ cruzara _ . Extend the leg back, kick forward, hop. Spin, one and two. Faster, sharper, quicker. More, more, more. And she always kept a smile on her face.

Marinette had danced to the point where she didn't know what were tears and what was sweat, and thought it was better that way. 

That was also when she decided to be strong and move ahead - by herself if that was necessary.

If she wasn't going to the Grand Prix with Nathanael, she was determined to find a way there. Even if that meant going by herself, or training a beginner to be good enough to go with her, she was going to make it.

Nothing was going to stop her.


	4. formation team

In hindsight, finding another partner sounded easy. But Marinette totally forgot about the fact that when it came to finding good male amateur ballroom dancers (and not amateur in the way that they were just starting out dancing, but that they wanted to dance because they loved dance), dancesport was in short supply. Her coach was supportive of her endeavors, even when she insisted that Adrien would be a better match. Marinette still didn’t want to partner up with Adrien; not because she was with Nathanael, but because she wanted to find a partner on her own - to finally choose someone and not the other way around.

But still - it was hard! No matter how many ads she put out in the paper, and how many guys came to audition and see if they matched well, it just wasn't working. Either they were too grabby (those guys her coach immediately booted), or too short, or not enough experience, or too old to compete with her and they couldn't keep up. Her determination from a few days ago was starting to wear thin.

Yet she still held out. Marinette decided when (not  _ if _ \- she would definitely find someone) she found a partner, they would participate in that Ulrich competition that Nathanael was talking about. She needed a professional place to really test them out, against other amateurs. The studio wouldn't be enough to see if they were a good fit.

If only she could find someone, though . . . 

"Marinette! I need you to run an errand for me," Mabé yelled out from her office, jolting her out of her thoughts. Today Mabé wasn't with her students because the teaching assistants had showed up for the day, and they did as good of a job as she did. Her coach always wanted some time to breathe and do whatever she needed to do, and the teaching assistants really helped her out.

"Yes, I'll be there in a second," she replied, stopping mid-body rise. Mabé had the tendency of having Marinette take some dance shoes to the repair shop, or picking up some shoes from there as well. She didn't mind, really - it was a nice break from the constant practice.

When Marinette went inside the office, Mabé was hastily scribbling something on a piece of paper before sliding it to her. She also gave her a folded sheet of paper, but she placed it in her hand instead.

"I need you to go to this address and give this note and these weights to the person in charge. It's urgent," she pointed to the ankle weights resting to the left of her. 

"No problem. When do you need me back?" she queried.

"Take your time - just as long as you get those where they need to go," Mabé said suspiciously, making Marinette pause in the doorway with the things. Whenever her coach made her run errands, she always wanted her back as soon as possible. What's with this change of heart?

"Okay . . . I'll be back soon," Marinette said hesitantly. She stood in the doorway and narrowed her eyes, waiting for any other instructions from her coach.

"Take your things with you in case you don't make it back in time," Mabé added nonchalantly as she wrote something down in a notebook.

"I don't think that'll be necessary," Marinette argued, becoming somewhat frustrated with her teacher's cryptic instructions.

Mabé gave her that stern, know-it-all look that Marinette couldn't fight. She gave a huff before taking off her dancing heels, shoving it in her duffel bag with her other things, and slipped on a pair of flats. Before heading out, she slipped the note in her jacket pocket and zipped it up, knowing that it was going to be safe and sound there.

With the duffel bag slung over her shoulders and the weights placed in her bike basket, she was starting to feel tired as she pedaled around the town, trying to find the place with the directions her coach had written down. That's why she wanted to get back soon - the weights were already heavy enough, but with the added weight of her duffel bag, it was starting to feel like there was going to be a disaster.  

Luckily, the place was close by. She chained her bike to one of the lampposts, hoping that her errand would be done with soon so she didn't have to worry about someone taking it.

When Marinette took out the weights and looked from the directions to the place she was standing in front of, she wasn't sure she was at the right place.

She looked back and forth from the directions to the building. Once. Twice. Three times.

Did Mabé really send her to the Françoise Dance Studio?

Maybe it was just a coincidence! And besides, she was just supposed to drop off the weights and the note - no big deal. It would take three, maybe five minutes, tops? She wouldn't have to stay for long and she could get an ice cream afterwards. Besides, Mabé said she could take her time coming back.

Just like she was about to dance on a competition floor, Marinette shook off her nervousness and made a beeline towards the glass doors.

There was a long hallway that branched out into offices, smaller dance rooms, and the main dance area. She knew that she should have gone directly to the offices, but she was drawn to the large room that was blockaded by two large wooden doors. Her nosiness got the better of her, so she peered inside the room through the glass windows that covered each door. Her eyes widened. 

When she saw the rehearsal area, the first thing that popped into her mind was ‘I wonder if the reason Mabé didn't want to come in herself is because this person's dance studio is so much better than ours’.

The place was just so vast! She was sure that even with a ladder, she wasn't close to touching the ceiling. It was slanted at an angle, probably because of how the building was shaped, but it didn't diminish its appeal. Mahogany ballet bars covered the right side of the room, and mirrors twice as tall as her covered the left. In her dance studio, lights hung from the ceiling and even though lights were there as well, there were some lights that were even attached to the mirrors. They were there to spotlight the dancer so they could catch mistakes twice as quickly. 

As much as Marinette wanted to admire every square inch of the room, she still had an errand to run. And there were people practicing in there right now, so she definitely couldn’t interrupt their flow by pushing her nose against the glass and looking inside.

The weight of her duffel bag against her shoulder made her that much more urgent to complete her task and go back to her own studio. She still had rehearsal to do, even if she didn’t have a partner. Not that it mattered, of course; her own steps and variations in her solo sections were still missing that flair she desperately needed, and a partner would definitely hold her down. She had to focus on herself, but dammit, if she couldn’t find a partner soon, she would lose her mind!

“Can I help you?”

Marinette jolted out of her thoughts, her heart beating a mile a minute. She was sure they could hear whatever was going on in her head, and her wide-eyed look was definitely giving it away.

A woman a few inches taller than her was peering out through a doorway, her face expectant. She had a very sweet face, now that she looked more at her - hazel eyes that seemed to curve delicately downward framed by a long line of lashes. Hair which looked so red it was purple, and didn’t need to be tied up, and a mouth that was absolutely sweet.

“I, um. . . are you the person in charge?” Marinette silently cursed Mabé for not telling her who the head dance instructor was at this place. Or at least told her the name of the person she was looking for! It was embarrassing walking around and looking as lost as she felt.

“I can’t direct you to the ‘person in charge’ but I can certainly help you with whatever you’re looking for. Come in,” she said, gesturing towards the office she had ducked back into.

Contrary to her sweet face, her mannerisms could snap a man in two if they had hands. They were just . . . so cold. Detached.

Marinette tightened the grip on her duffel bag as she hastily slid inside the room before the door shut behind her.

The room was bright, way too bright - the lights were already hurting her eyes, but the pristine white walls made the room absolutely blinding. 

Once her eyes adjusted, she noted that the room itself looked very comfortable. Two plush, burgundy chairs face the main wooden desk that the woman was sitting behind. She pushed up the glasses onto her head (glasses Marinette hadn't noticed that were perched on her nose) and she began to pile up and adjust the sheets of paper sitting in front of her.

The woman looked up and gestured to the chair closest to her, letting Marinette seat herself and shuffle her duffel bag to the left of her before speaking again.

"So what brings you in today?" The woman folded her hands in front of her and stared at the girl in front of her, her eyes completely focused.

"I'm just supposed to drop off these weights. Oh, and this note too," she quickly replied, digging out the weights from her duffel bag and putting them on the desk. 

When their heaviness made the pencils on the desk clatter, Marinette flinched and looked up apologetically. She then slid the note out of her jacket pocket and passed it over to the woman and waited as she carefully opened the crinkled piece of paper.

Settling the glasses back on her face, her eyes scanned over the words and she saw her face change from utter seriousness to total delight.

"Ah! You're Bustier's girl - I should have known when you walked through the door." The woman's mouth curved into a glittering smile as she folded up the paper once more.

"Yes, I'm Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Pleased to make your acquaintance." Marinette slipped into her polite autopilot when she was totally confused and didn't know what was going on. Uncontestedly, right now was one of those times.

"Oh, no need to be so formal my dear - I see you have your things with you! Wonderful! You can change in here if need be. But please be quick, time is ticking." The woman sprang up from her chair, moving around her desk and passing Marinette the duffel bag she had left on the ground.

"Wait, I don't understa - "

"Meet me in the main dance room when you're finished," she cut her off before leaving the room and shutting the door in Marinette's face.

She blinked, looking down at the bag in her arms and the enigmatic woman with her one-sided conversations. She really didn't understand what was going on, or why it was she had to get dressed. What she did know was that there was a lot information at her disposal, all she had to do was connect the dots. But because her mind was reeling from everything that had been thrown at her (verbally and physically), the dots seemed so much more far away than they really were.

Confused and curious, she decided to take her chances and put on her dancing clothes once again. She put on her leggings, a knee-length practice skirt, her worn-down heels (she would have to get another pair with her allowance soon), and shrugged off her jacket, leaving on her v neck blouse.

Tentatively, she opened the door and peered to the left and right of her. She didn't know why, but she had the feeling that someone would pop up out of nowhere and scare her, which was the last thing she needed right now.

As she stepped out the room, her body automatically went to the right. Marinette remembered where the room was from all her snooping. When she was about to push open the wooden doors, she paused. It seemed odd, but just a few minutes ago she was admiring the room and now she was going to be able to dance in it. It was kind of like a dream.

Still in that dreamy state, she went inside. 

Her eyes were immediately drawn to a pair of green eyes that reminded her of the promise of spring.

And as she took in the rest of the person - their nose, the curve of their mouth, their hair, it all created the image of a person she had studied too much and knew all too well: Adrien.

This was where Marinette thought, now this really must be a dream.

Adrien?

But as she blinked, it seemed as if everything had come into a painfully sharp focus; the smell of sweat and an odd perfume in the ballroom, the brightness of all the lights trying to wash out everything within the vicinity, and the frustrating dancer-boy standing in front of her. 

And then all of the dots connected.

She remembered the conversation she had with Adrien when he came into her studio:  _ "I practice at the Françoise Dance Studio a few blocks away" _ . 

And then she thought about Mabé's stern look when Marinette told her she didn't need to take her things with her. The look that Mabé gave when she didn't want to argue and when she would always come out triumphant in the end because she was right.

"Adrien?"

"Marinette! And I thought we wouldn't see each other again for a good while," he replied easily, throwing out one his charming smiles as if it wasn't a big deal.

Still puzzled and horrified, she looked over at the woman who was a few feet away. She had one hand on her hips and the other was fiddling with the stereo.

"If this is your studio," Marinette gestured towards the boy (if he had a tail, it would be positively wagging), "then you must be - "

"His coach and head of this studio, Nadja Chamack. Pleasure to finally meet you, Bustier's  _ petit étoile _ ." Chamack didn't look up from her fiddling, but Marinette didn't miss the smile that was on her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> marinette's a lil star


	5. parallel position

Oh, my God!

Mabé had sent her here because she knew Adrien studied in this studio, and she remembered how desperately Mabé had wanted them to become partners. Mabé had really gone above and beyond in trying to arrange this little get together, and Marinette wasn't sure whether to be totally furious or begrudgingly impressed.

"Alright, we'll begin with the waltz. Get into position," Chamack said, her voice starting to slip into professional-and-serious-coach mode.

Marinette was frozen on the spot, unsure of what to do. She still had time to run out if she really wanted to. Her duffel bag was packed up in the office, and she didn't have a problem running and biking home in heels - 

"My dear, time is of the essence! What, are you afraid Adrien's clumsy feet will trip over yours? Don't fret, darling," Chamack walked over to them as she laughed and gave the girl a playful shove.

That made her jolt out of her escapist thinking as she collided into Adrien's arms. He didn't hesitate in catching her, his hands supporting either side of her waist.

"Are you okay? That was a hard tumble. Nad doesn't know her own strength, even though I keep on telling her to watch herself," Adrien confided her, his eyes searching hers for what seemed like forever.

Marinette felt her face turning into the color of a tomato. "I-I-I-I," she kept on stuttering; literally no other sound could come out of her mouth. She thought about hurling herself out of a window just to get away from this embarrassing situation.

"Now, into position and here we go. Marinette, just follow Adrien into whatever steps feel right; he's an excellent leader so don't worry about anything going wrong," Chamack called to the couple from her place by the stereo.

Not knowing what else to do, Marinette let her dancer's body snap her into position, one hand grasping Adrien's shoulder and the other clasping his own hand. He placed his free hand on her back, and it felt out of place to her since it wasn't Nathanael's. There was a difference between them; whereas Adrien’s hand was hard and firm, Nathanael’s was always hesitant, yet he eventually warmed up to her. But right now she was in dancer mode, so she would worry about it later.

The room swelled with the sound of a somber viola, and in no time, Adrien's grip on her tightened as he took a step to the left. In that second of movement, Marinette felt an electric current run through her.

Her body automatically responded, and wherever he stepped, she followed him smoothly. At certain points, he would look at her, and his eyes would gently ask her if she wanted to try something. When she relented, he spun them together five times, and the natural way he seemed to shift her body made her feel like they were one entity, rather than two different people; it felt like a dream. As her feet left the ground, she swore it was like she was walking on air. 

Adrien then nudged her, telling her that he wanted to try standing on the balls of their feet - a technique used by dancers to show that their posture and balance were sublime. Even though Marinette was a bit worried they would fall on their face if they tried something like that so early on, a small part of her felt like they wouldn't fall, and they'd be fine. For once, she listened to that little part of her, and she let him turn her once more before standing on his feet; Marinette followed suit. They only stood for about five seconds before he shifted back down and moved her into another dip.

Something she had noticed when she was on her search for a partner was that her partner’s control was way too domineering. It was something that didn’t sit right with Marinette, and she would always forcefully move away from them and in turn, making her feel less stifled (and her partner frustrated). Early on, Marinette had quickly learned that ballroom dancing was all about an equal partnership; an equal footing. If the leader was too bossy in how he danced with his partner, then she would look like she was being tossed and thrown around like a ragdoll. When she and Nathanael danced for the first time, he had the impression that that was what he was supposed to do; Marinette stopped him right in his tracks - with a nasty stomp on his foot - when he began to throw her around to the point that she felt her neck was about to snap.

Because of this, Marinette was actually a bit curious - he was very commanding in his nudges and their spins, but would he let her try something? Again, ballroom dancing was all about giving and receiving and vice versa. He had to let her do some sort of change in their dancing or else what they were doing right now was never going to be equal. As she slightly shifted her foot, telling him that she wanted to move and spin to the right, Adrien did not hesitate in fixing his position to let her go where she wanted. Yet as she was given that little bit of autonomy, he quickly took control of their dancing once more, making their next moves another two spins and a subsequent pause and dip. 

Marinette hummed in delight - he had read her body exactly as she had intended. If he had let her do another change in their position, they would have run into the dancing bars along the wall. He was taking control when needed, and that was very important in a dancing partnership.

As they continued dancing, her eyes widened like saucers with every spin until she felt like they would pop out. Maybe she never noticed it because he danced with Chloe who was unwilling to do certain moves, but his confident assurance was evident in the way he held her. Again, there was that gentle firmness in his grip like that time when he was in her studio, but this time, with the added movement of their arms, legs, and feet, she was hyper aware of the way the pads of his fingers curved against her back. Of the way the roughness in his hand as it grasped her own wasn’t uncomfortable, but a welcoming sensation, like a blast of heat on a cold winter’s night. 

And yet, the way they danced wasn't all perfect - sometimes she would stumble when they danced backwards. Marinette wasn't used to her partner looming over her without having to bend back. Even with the stumbling, it felt nice to be able to stretch her neck back to look up at her partner.

As she looked up at Adrien through her lashes, she saw that he was focused solely on her, the furrow in his brows and the sideways tilt in his mouth as he tried to figure out variations was something utterly new to her. As he noticed Marinette’s curiosity, his green eyes lit up like a neon light with a similar curiosity - but also joy - reflecting back to her that she wasn’t sure whether she would fall, or become entranced by his glow.

Abruptly, she dug her heels into the ground. The sudden stiffness in her body made Adrien blink in surprise, causing the grip on her back and hand to falter. Marinette took the opportunity to rip her hands away from him as if he burned her. The music stopped.

“What is the matter?” Marinette could hear Chamack’s voice drifting towards her, but it sounded muffled. Like Marinette was in a bubble and everything else except she and Adrien were outside of it.

She looked down at her hands, still feeling the grasp of his. There was a pulsing sensation going through them, and she wasn’t sure if it was a good or bad feeling - her head was pounding, and she couldn’t think straight. Her skirt fluttered as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Looking up at Adrien, she saw a flash of hurt and confusion; she couldn’t look at him for too long without feeling sick for causing him distress over something he had no idea about.

“I’m sorry, I just - I have to go. Excuse me,” she said, her voice strained. She pivoted and left the dance room without looking back. 

If it wasn’t for the fact that she was still wearing her dancing heels, Marinette would have forgotten to grab her duffel bag from the office. Once she made it outside with her things, she tried to unchain her bike, but it was difficult because her hands were shaking too much. Taking a deep breath, Marinette hoped that her body would soon calm itself down so she could at least do something right without messing everything else up.

She really messed everything up, didn’t she?

Closing her eyes tightly and biting her lip, Marinette forced herself to focus on the task at hand and not let herself get carried away. If she thought about it any further, she was sure she would curl into a ball and cry on the dirty floor, and that was something she didn’t want to do at  _ all.  _

Eventually, Marinette was able to successfully release her bike, and she shoved her duffel bag on the seat so she wouldn’t have to carry it home on her shoulder.

What was Mabé thinking, sending her on an errand to get her and Adrien together? This was totally different from when she danced with the other guys - Marinette was sure their relationship wouldn’t have lasted long, and she was fine with that. But it was different with Adrien; if she danced with him, it wouldn’t be just for the Grand Prix, but for the rest of her life. She couldn’t envision going into another partnership if she was with him. But the thing was she wasn’t ready to go into a real, committed partnership, especially with someone she admired.

Did she really admire Adrien?

Yes, definitely, she thought without hesitation. He was a skilled dancer, and if he was paired with her, Marinette felt that she would hold him down. She could never be able to help him advance if they danced together. But that damn little part of her whispered that it wasn’t true - if they were together, she would actually really help him unleash his full potential. 

In fact, they were made for each other. Marinette didn’t want to admit it, but it felt as if they had been dancing together for years, instead of just an hour. There was a familiarity in the way that he held her, and the way her hands felt so assured against his body.

But the feeling in her throat told her no. No, no, no. She couldn’t let herself pair up with him. She just couldn’t.

“Marinette, wait!”

Her heart felt as if it was going to jump out of her chest as she looked behind her, seeing the same boy that was on her mind running to catch up to her.

Without thinking, Marinette picked up the pace and was dead-set on getting home without interacting with him.

Sadly (or luckily), Adrien didn’t let her get away as he skidded in front of her. He used his hands and arms as a blockade, not letting her escape, but not letting her whack him either.

“Wow, you really walked far - I was afraid you would’ve been long gone if I didn’t go after you fast enough,” he laughed airily. He sounded out of breath; she could see his chest heaving with exertion and his face covered in sweat. Marinette noticed that he hadn’t changed out of his dancing clothes either. Did he even think about anything else when he bolted out of the door after her?

“What do you want?” Marinette meant to make her words sound as mean as possible, but she sounded defeated more than anything. Oh, and tired. Extremely tired.

He blinked, almost confused by her words. “I - you - you kinda just left me in the dance studio, you know? You left without an explanation when I thought everything was going well. Great, actually.” This time, the breathlessness in his voice wasn’t from strain, but out of wonder. It made the hairs on Marinette’s neck stand.

Marinette ignored this as she replied, “I’m not gonna change my mind - we’re not dancing together, Adrien.” She began to move - walking, this time - and he let her pass. Without waiting for her approval, he began to walk beside her, his long legs easily keeping up with her pace.

Adrien pursed his lips. “I know you’re not with Nathanael anymore.”

Her steps slightly faltered, but she gripped her bike’s handlebars as she picked up the pace once more. He didn’t notice the change in speed.

“So?” she let out through gritted teeth.

“You don’t have a good excuse not to dance with me anymore,” he said, sounding absolutely smug to the point that Marinette could feel her eyes rolling all the way to the back of her head.

“I’ll always be faithful. Don’t test me,” she replied weakly.

He shook his head. “That’s not it. How you held my hand - that definitely wasn’t it. You just don’t want to dance with me. Is it something that I did? How I lead? Because if it is, I can change it, you know. I don’t want to be a terrible leader-”

She worked up the courage to find her voice as she cut him off. “That’s the problem, Adrien. You’re. . . you’re a wonderful leader and it was great. That’s why we can’t be partners.” 

Even if it didn’t make sense to him, it made perfect sense to her. 

“Marinette, I just don’t get it. If it went great, doesn’t that mean something? I think it means we should be partners, if you ask me.” Adrien brushed his blond hair aside, the breeze cooling the sweat from his face. He looked over at Marinette, eyes scanning, and saw that she didn’t look entirely convinced by his words.

Marinette laughed, a very disbelieving sound. “I don’t think so. I just don’t.”

Frustrated, Adrien moved from his passive position beside her to once again stand in front her. “Then what is it? It has to be fixable, it can’t just be that you don’t think so. If I dance like Nathanael, will it be okay then? You said our dancing was great, but why are you saying no?” Contrary to his fierce words, the hands he had placed on top of hers were achingly gentle.

The air felt to sharp to her. The smells - his sweat, her sweat, an odd peppermint scent that traversed between them was hurting her nose. His grasp, the passionate ferocity in his eyes, his overwhelming presence - it made her lash out.

“I don’t know if I can trust you, okay?” she cried, her brows furrowing in distress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> midterms are coming up so pray for me y'all


	6. envelopé

Adrien blinked once. Twice. Three times.

He opened his mouth to say something, but immediately closed it. Out of all the things he had imagined her to say, he never thought she would say that she didn’t trust him.

The air stirred with unsaid words and so many lingering questions, but Adrien decided to pick the easiest one to ask.

“Why?”

Marinette’s mouth formed a thin line as she refused to let him know the reason why. She didn’t want the situation to become one of those scenes she saw in the hollywood movies her father showed her when she was a child: two people sit across from each other in a diner, somewhere in California, and their voices are hushed against the rising sun as they confess to each other their deepest secrets. That just doesn’t happen in real life - people are much more complicated and secretive than that. Marinette wasn’t about to confess her secrets to this boy, this wild, ambitious boy as the sun set behind Paris.

That sounded just as equally ridiculous as the movies.

When Marinette didn’t respond to his question, Adrien decided he was going to wait this out for as long as he needed to. But just in case, he thought a little prod towards the right direction wouldn’t hurt.

“Please,” he murmured softly, thumbs brushing over her knuckles. Marinette looked up to see that he wasn’t looking at her, but rather at her bone-white knuckles that are clutching her bike handles with all her might.

 Blushing, she moved her hands so that they were gripping the frame of the bicycle instead, rather than somewhere Adrien could touch them. She wouldn’t spill her secrets to him, she decided, but she could at least tell him something to get her off her back. At least for a little bit.

“It’s - just not easy for me to trust another person just like that. I can’t hold that kind of connection with another person right now. It’s too personal,” she said, mentally patting herself on the back for at least being partially honest. 

It was true; even though she was so set on finding another partner, it was still a daunting task to have to trust your mind and body to someone you just met. Although she had seen and admired Adrien from afar, at the time, he was already with someone. She never thought she would talk to him, least of all dance with him. It was just so unimaginable to dance with anyone else other than Nathanael that she never had to think twice about Adrien and her together.

Yet here she was, having to give him a million and one reasons as to why they couldn’t be dance partners.

“But Marinette, there was a connection there, even if trust totally wasn’t. You felt it too, didn’t you? That current? I’ve never felt it before, and it was . . . indescribable.” There was that same look of wonder on his face that made her go weak in the knees. That twinkle in his eyes - she never saw it when he danced with Chloe. And he was standing in front of her, her of all people, looking so starstruck.

And the thing that scared her was that Adrien was absolutely right; she did feel that electric current run through her when they danced together, and she couldn’t deny it. All the signs were there: he let her lead when it was necessary, the pressure he exerted on her body was just right, he was tall enough for her (as superficial as that sounded), and he was so passionate. Not just passionate about dancesport, but passionate about being the best - being  _ his  _ best.

Marinette stopped in the middle of her thoughts for a millisecond to think, did she see all of that when he danced with Chloe?

Her response was quick and succinct - no. He was never like that when he danced with her. Chloe was only concerned about being in first place when he only wanted to better himself as a dancer, even if that meant winning second, third, or even fourth place.

Here, the little voice inside of her wasn’t so little anymore. It became as loud as a clarion call, demanding that she listen even if it hurt her ears:

_ You’re the person he’s been looking for. You’re the person who can help him reach for the stars _ , it said, the feeling as loud as a siren. 

And she believed it. For the first time in her life, she really believed in that voice with all of her heart and soul.

“I felt it,” Marinette confessed breathlessly, as if she had run a marathon and could finally take in that sweet, deep breath of fresh air. “I felt that current too. But Adrien, I’m so scared.” 

They were now walking through the park, the breeze being mostly obscured by the trees. When Marinette spotted a park bench, she pushed her bike towards it and set it on its side. She couldn’t push it anymore, and needed to rest, even if it was for a few minutes. She sat down and leaned into her upturned palms, finally letting the weight of her worries descend on her shoulders.

“What are you so scared of? You can trust me Marinette, I swear - I won’t drop you, or let you fall or anything,” he said, excited at the prospect of her finally warming up to him. Adrien sat down next to her, but didn’t sit too close to her. He wanted to give her the personal space he saw that she needed. 

As Marinette looked up at the boy, nothing but concern and earnestness were present on his features. She could feel her heart beat faster, her hands slightly trembling by just thinking about the words that wanted to come out of her mouth.

“I - “ she paused, giving him the chance to leave if he wanted to. He simply waited patiently.

She began.

“When I was eleven, I went to see my first ever amateur competition. The lights, the dresses, the atmosphere - I was so overwhelmed, but in a good way. It felt comforting, like a pair of open arms,” she confessed, looking at the way her fingers curved around the material of her practice skirt. It gave her something to focus on as she told him what she had never really wanted to admit to herself.

As Marinette lost herself to the memory, everything around her began to fade, even Adrien. She could see, hear, smell, and touch everything that was in that dance venue. Her senses were vivid, and not just because she had been at that same place a mere few weeks before. She could sense everything as it was when she was younger. Still a spectator. The pristine dance floor, the cascading lights, the low murmur of fierce conversation - it all came rushing back to her and she swore she could feel the same sandals she wore that day pressing against the ground.

This time when she spoke, there wasn’t any hesitation in her voice. It all came flowing back to her, her mouth vocalizing her memories for her.

“It was all so big, and I felt so small. But I couldn’t believe I could finally see people who had danced for so long, and see them in their element. I thought, ‘that’s going to be me one day’, but I never thought it would be soon. I sat on the bleachers, my eyes never leaving that dance floor for a second. Most of all, my eyes were locked on a pair of dancers - number twenty-three.”

Her eyes began to cloud over, and Adrien’s eyebrows furrowed in concern. When she started talking to him, her eyes were so starry eyed that he had to do a double take; he couldn’t believe he was still looking at the same person.

But he still didn’t touch her. He waited patiently, yet engrossed.

“The follower was so beautiful. She wore this shining green dress that faded to blue towards the bottom, and she had a face that made even me envious. Whenever she dipped, she released grace. I wanted to be like her. No, I wanted to  _ be  _ her. But her partner was so stoic - so fierce in his dancing that it completely offset her. And then it happened.

“It was the last dance, the tango,” Marinette’s breathing began to speed up. “and as they shifted into a variation, it happened.”  Here, she snapped out of her dream-like state. Lifting her head, Marinette looked up at the moon and the beams that washed over her.

“What happened?” Adrien queried, moving closer to hear her answer.

“She dropped to the ground,” she replied, looking over at him to lock her eyes with his.

Adrien’s breath left his body and he swore. It was a definite loss if one partner or the other fell to the ground. Screw ups didn’t exist in the amateur dancing world; you either were good, or you didn’t compete at all. Any mess ups could lower your rank, and it was so hard to bring it back up again. 

“But it was a fluke, right? She must’ve gotten back up and finished the dance?” Adrien was actually afraid to hear the answer.

Marinette laughed, but there wasn’t any mirth in it. “Everyone, too, thought it was fluke. But no - she physically couldn’t. She twisted both of her ankles. There was no way she could have finished the dance.”

The air between them was completely silent.

“They carried her out on a stretcher, and the team ended up being disqualified. Everyone thought it was an accident - at least, that was what her partner said. But I saw everything. Somehow, he had messed up their variation and her feet turned the wrong way. The human body shouldn’t have been able to do that, Adrien.” Marinette buried her face in her hands as she tried to gather her bearings, but the image was so imprinted in her memory that she couldn’t erase it no matter how hard she rubbed her eyes, or no matter how long she had trained with Nathanael.

Even when she started dancing with him, she was so hesitant to touch his hand. She didn’t want to end up like the dancer she admired, but she loved dance so much that it hurt her to not dance at all. It took her weeks and a lot of gentle coaxing for the two of them to do the basic waltz together. But somehow, she had been able to trust and dance with Nathanael for years that she never thought about having to dance with someone else and having to start that whole trusting process from scratch. Yet here she was, unsure if she could trust Adrien, not because he was a reckless dancer, but because of her own fears.

Adrien moved his hand so it was slightly grazing Marinette’s arm. It was a sign, telling her to continue if she wanted to. As she pulled her hands away from her face, she nodded and took a deep breath.

“I saw that he had messed her up and had dropped her. I don’t know why, and I don’t know how he could do something like that to her, but it happened. His eyes - they were so cruel, Adrien. I don’t remember seeing menace like that ever before.” It became a little harder to tell him what she was going to say next.

“That’s why I’m afraid . . . to trust you. I know I didn’t live through that, but I could feel her pain like it was my own. It may sound dumb, but it really scared me. I’ve never been so scared in my life,” she said, gauging his reaction. If he lashed out, then it really wasn’t her loss. Maybe now he could stop pestering her.

She didn’t tell him that she was also afraid that if something like that happened to her, her dreams of becoming the best dancer anyone’s ever seen were going to be shattered. What else would she have? Dancing was her whole life, and if she got hurt like that, then not only her dreams would disappear, but her literal life. It was daunting. And she didn’t tell him that it wasn’t his fault at all - that he was an amazing dancer and that whoever he danced with, they would be an amazing duo. And she wouldn’t feel bitter about it, because he deserved so much more than what he had gotten in his life so far. Maybe someday she could tell him that, just not today.

Adrien didn’t hesitate in enveloping her hands in his, their warmth sending reassuring vibrations through her.

“I’m so sorry that you had to see something like that,” he told her, no hint of judgement in his tone. 

He sounded so understanding and kind that Marinette began to feel embarrassed that she had unloaded so much on him. He didn’t know her all that well, but here she was, telling him all of the problems she had when she was younger. And her problems from now, if she was being honest with herself.

“But please, know that I would never hurt you like that. I have no idea why that guy was so malicious, but if he was a true leader, he would never fail his follower. And I’m not telling you this just to get you to dance with me, but when we danced, I felt a connection I had never felt with anyone before. And I know you felt it too because I could sense it flowing from you to me. As corny as it sounds, I think . . . I think we were made for each other.” 

Marinette could feel his slight hesitation as he spoke his last sentence. It was a concept that was entirely too new to Adrien, and Marinette couldn’t decipher why. Yet  Adrien’s eyes brightened as he spilled out his thoughts, just as she had done moments ago. In the moonlight, the green in his eyes were as bright as spring leaves, and his mouth curled up in amazement as he recalled their waltz. He was right - the way he touched her and the way he lead was something Marinette hadn’t seen when she had snuck glances when he and Chloe danced. 

“But,” he paused, feeling the full weight of his words and hers. “If you don’t want to dance with me, I’ll understand. I won’t push you - how you feel is much more important than anything else. I’ll even stop bothering you, if that’s what you want,” he said, his voice becoming much more quiet, but still resolved. His stance was firm, letting her know that he was serious.

Marinette couldn’t fathom his kindness. She looked down, his hands still on hers. Even though her hands felt so clammy, he radiated warmth. She always thought of him kind of like the sun - always bright, full of energy, and so warm. Endlessly warm. And as she looked up at his eyes, she couldn’t see a trace of dishonesty, or bitterness. He was serious; if she didn’t want to dance with him, he wouldn’t press her. There was that push and pull, just like she had felt when they danced the waltz.

_ You can trust him _ , she told herself.  _ It may take some time, but he won’t hurt you. He won’t let you down. Your dreams are so close - take his hand and don’t look back _ .

Without thinking twice about it, she moved her hands so that they were grasping his. She stood up from the bench and tugged him along, his eyes focused on her, slightly confused, but expectant.

She folded her hand over his so they could be in a dancing position - the waltz. As he moved closer towards her, she placed her other hand on his shoulder. Taking her cues, he put his other hand on her back and they began to dance. They moved around the park, their feet barely touching the pavement. Adrien moved them into a chainé turn, a full turn every two steps, and they just kept spinning. Each move blended into the next, and as he tightened his hold on her waist, she leaned back, and the arc that she had created with her body was so sharp it left her breathless.

When they spun back to the bench they were originally sitting at, they were breathing heavily, the exertion not something new to them, but the person they shared it with  _ was.  _ They looked at each other for a few seconds, the silence being a comfort to them.

Marinette told him with her eyes that no, she didn’t want him to stop bothering her - she wanted them to dance together. Soon enough, his mouth broke into the brightest smile she had ever seen. He let out a deep breath, not as a sigh, but as a satisfied huff. As much as he wanted to pull her in for a hug, he held himself back. 

Now that they were partners, it was time to get serious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mkay, now that we've got our lil cuties together, time for some a n g s t


	7. corta jaca

“Alya! How’s Portugal?” Marinette adjusted the phone against her shoulder as she shifted her body on her computer chair.

At first she was trying to do research for a school project, but as she was looking through news reports, it had reminded her of her best friend Alya and the blog she ran as a hobby. Her blog was all about the happenings of the dancing world, with a focus on amateur dance competitions so she could talk about herself after each successful competition. Marinette didn’t like talking about it, but Alya’s blog posts consisted a good deal of Marinette’s competitions as well, and no matter how much Marinette told her friend that there were other dance teams she could have reported about, there would always be a post talking about her success.

_ ‘You’re a magnificent dancer, Mari! Seriously, you’re so modest - so many people admire you on my blog, girl,’ _ Alya would tell her whenever she brought it up. Marinette would simply wave her hand in response and roll her eyes, a smile on her face.

All that thinking about her blog made her forget the task at hand, so she had decided to call her friend up.

“Well, the first few days were fabulous; I had never seen so many dark-haired hazel-eyed babes in my life! But then I saw another, and another, and another. Honestly, I’m so tired of them I make a face everytime I see a guy. Save me, please,” she said in mock-despair, making Marinette laugh and snort.

“It’s not that bad, c’mon. If you have any problems with them, just send the guys over to my mom. You know how she melts whenever she sees a guy like that,” she replied, wagging her pen in the air.

Now it was Alya’s turn to laugh. “You’re right, I should totally do that! But honestly, it’s such a beautiful place. The atmosphere, the food - and they have so many lakes! I literally have to get dragged away from them, or I won’t show up to competitions otherwise.” Alya sounded completely ecstatic and it made her friend’s heart light. It felt therapeutic to hear everything was going right with her.

“That sounds so nice. Just don’t give Max a hard time, okay?”

Marinette looked out at the view in front of her and the image Alya was painting for her. Sure, Paris was lovely; it had a history that couldn’t be compared to any other country,  _ and _ it was the city of love - you couldn’t really top that. But she had lived here her entire life, and Portugal seemed so dreamy to her. She had only journeyed as far as Germany - her mother didn’t want her straying too far for competitions, and Marinette didn’t mind. But in her dreams she saw red terracotta roofs and yellow trolleys in the streets. One day she would see them, just not now, though.

“Oh, didn’t I tell you? I’m not dancing with him right now. His knee is acting up again so he’s gotta take a bit of time off,” Alya said matter-of-factly, not hesitating in the slightest. It caught Marinette off guard.

“No, you never told me! What are you going to do, now that he’s out? Are you still going to compete? Are you going to have to leave early? Forfeit?” Marinette spun her chair around and got up to pace her room. She was really worried for Alya - how could she act so nonchalant? 

This was serious stuff. Alya had been wanting to go to this competition for months; she had worked day and night, sinking her body in a tub full of ice cubes (this, Marinette knew because Alya would always call her from her bath, whining and complaining the whole way through), and still waking up bright and early for the day she could go to Portugal. And now, her partner was out and she was being so calm about it. What was she thinking?

“No, no! You think I’d leave now? No, I just found this guy who was looking for a partner - he never told me why, but he’s pretty good. And if he doesn’t tell me why he doesn’t have a partner, you know I’ll find out anyway.” Marinette could see her wagging her eyebrows.

The girl sighed; she was somewhat relieved that Alya had found a solution, but was this guy a better alternative?

“Yeah? What’s his name? Maybe I’ve heard of him.”

“His name’s Nino. I remember seeing him in the circuits back home and he wasn’t half bad. I wonder what he’s doing here, though,” Alya mused aloud, her voice humming along with the gears in her mind.

Marinette tried to think if she had ever heard of him - the name sounded vaguely familiar, but it wasn’t ringing any bells. It probably wasn’t all that important anyway.

“Okay, well good luck! I’m rooting for you from all the way over here,” Marinette said, going back to sit down at her computer chair.

“Thanks! And I’ll be rooting for you and Nathanael too, so sending lots of love.” Alya began to make kissing noises, but Marinette couldn’t laugh at it. She had just remembered that she hadn’t told Alya what had happened the last couple of weeks.

“Mari? What’s up? You still there?” Marinette had been silent when Alya cracked her joke, and now she sounded concerned.

“Nothing, it’s just - you know, so much has happened and I kinda forgot to update you on all that’s been going on back here,” she laughed a little nervously.

“ . . . like what?”

“Like the fact that me and Nathanael broke up,” she answered in the tiniest voice.

There was silence on the other side of the line. 

“Did the connection cut off or something? Maybe it’s the--”

“You guys broke up and you didn’t tell me the second it happened?” Alya exclaimed so loudly that Marinette had to pull the phone away from her face. Her face scrunched up as she heard the yelling, even from so far away. When it had quieted some, she place the phone back against her ear.

“When did this happen? Where? Why? Oh my god, did he dump you? If he did, I swear I’ll step on his feet so hard he can’t even do the two-step,” she growled.

“It happened a few weeks ago. . .at the diner. You know, the one by the bakery? And it was mutual. I’m not upset, really,” she said, giving Alya all of the facts first. Her friend didn’t really like beating around the bush, especially when it came to important information.

Marinette felt so relieved to be able to unload all of this onto her best friend. She never realized how much she missed her, now that she was telling her all of this over the phone. And finally saying all of it aloud, it sounded like she was mostly over it. Maybe she’d be okay in a while, or maybe never, but at least for right now, she could bear it. And the break up was definitely mutual - Marinette wanted something else, but could never cut Nathanael outright out of her dancing life; he did that for her. It would be okay. She would be okay.

“Are you sure? Because the offer to crush his toes is still on the table,” Alya sounded skeptical, but it made Marinette happy, knowing that her friend was still concerned.

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

“You don’t sound convincing. I know being a pro is your dream, and it was you and Nathanael who were supposed to make it together. It’ll take a little bit longer to get there; is that okay with you?” Now Alya was in full mother-protector mode.

“I will be totally okay, I promise,” she said, this time with more conviction. “And I don’t think my dream’s too far off. I . . . found another dancing partner.” Marinette didn’t know why she blushed, or why it was hard to admit that she had found someone else to dance with, yet here she was, her arm curled around her legs that were now against her chest.

Alya squealed. “Already? Wow, you really don’t waste any time, do you?” This time she sounded awfully proud and it made Marinette blush even more.

“I guess - ”

“So who is it? Is he tall? Dashing? Oh, is he older? He better not be, because guys like that think they can get really handsy and that’s just not okay. Maybe he’s not; you don’t seem like you’d go for an older guy, so who is it? Oh my god, you’re killing me with anticipation,” Alya’s words flowed without pause and it made Marinette’s head spin.

“If you’d just wait for five seconds then maybe I’ll tell you.”

“I’m sorry, I’m just really excited,” she giggled.

Marinette took a deep breath before saying “Adrien Agreste,” loudly and quickly, matching her response with the speed of Alya’s questions.

There wasn’t even a beat of silence before she did a dramatic gasp from the other end of the line.

“You’re lying! There’s no way Agreste is with you! Not that you’re a bad dancer, Mari, but he’s Adrien Agreste! And isn’t he with Chloe?” Marinette could practically see her friend waving her arms around frantically.

“I’m not lying, I swear! And he was; she left him and he asked me to be his dance partner. Not the other way around,” she added on quickly, not knowing why she needed to let Alya know that.

“Adrien Agreste, huh? Aren’t you worried that Chloe’s gonna hunt you down or something?”

Marinette paused. She didn’t really think about that. “I mean, she doesn’t have a reason to. She broke up with him - that means  _ she _ doesn’t want to dance with  _ him _ . It should be okay, right?” 

Alya paused before answering. “I don’t know, I mean, Chloe’s very vindictive. I’d watch out if I were you.”

Marinette’s eyebrows furrowed. How would Alya know? “That just doesn’t make sense. From what I saw, it was like she broke up from him because she didn’t win. She wasn’t getting what she wanted out of him anymore, so she just kinda left him. Why would she go back?” It sounded like she was bashing Adrien’s dancing abilities, but that wasn’t the case at all - she was very curious. What Alya was saying and what Marinette saw didn’t match up at all.

“I. . . remember I was in a competition against her once,” she said, trying to resurface the memories. “God, I can still see her nasty sneer. Anyway, she and Adrien were dancing partners at the time and during the quickstep at one point, Chloe wanted to go in one direction and Adrien in the other. They weren’t syncing up for that split second and they lost first place because of it.”

“And then what happened?” Marinette knew what the next words would be, but she still wanted Alya to say them anyway.

“She went off like a volcano. He didn’t take it calmly, of course, but she stormed off before it looked like she would throw him out a window or something. I know dancesport can get pretty serious, but she just totally lost it,” she breathed out the last word in disbelief, as if the events had occurred recently, rather than a while back.

But if they had broken up ages ago, why were they together when Marinette saw them at the national competition?

“I guess they probably got back together at some point - I saw them at the last competition I was at,” Marinette mused aloud.

Alya scoffed. “‘At some point’? Mari, they were back up in the rankings not even a few weeks later. They weren’t apart for too long, and I thought it was weird. I mean, who just breaks up and gets back together like nothing?”

If this has been happening longer than Marinette had imagined, there must be a reason as to why they keep on becoming partners again. From what it sounds like, they’ve been on and off for so long, and Chloe’s always the one that dumps him. But why can’t she let go of him? And why has Adrien taken her back over and over again?

“I don’t know, really,” Marinette replied, her eyes looking at the old, fraying, star sticker on her desk.

“But I haven’t heard about them in the rankings or anything, so maybe this time it’s for real. You said you two have been dancing for what, a few weeks now? It’s probably legit,” Alya said, her voice sounding so assured.

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Hey,” Alya’s voice softened. “It’ll be alright, okay? And if it isn’t, I’ll be there soon to kick some ass. Ugh, Marinette, I miss you so much - I can’t wait to back in France. Portugal's nice, but I wish I was back in my own bed,” she complained, sounding dramatic.

Marinette laughed. “Are you sure you don’t miss your bed more than me? And I miss you too! Come home soon and safe.”

“I will; good luck with everything, Mari - sending positive vibes your way.” Alya made some more kissing noises before she hung up.

As Marinette pulled her cell phone away from her ear, she looked down at it, wishing that Alya was actually here instead of hundreds of miles away. She’d be back soon, but it didn’t make her miss her any less.

She didn’t have too much time to think of her distant friend because she had to go practice with Adrien at his studio. In order to get each other comfortable in their spaces, they decided to switch off every now and then when practicing in each others’ studios - one week they’d be in Adrien’s, and the other would be in Marinette’s. The point was to really trust each other with what they grew up in, and what was basically their second homes. 

Marinette had learned that Adrien had just started going to the Françoise Dance Studio when he was eleven, and before that he had always been traveling. Since this was the longest he had been at any dance studio (the shortest being a few weeks), he had grown an attachment to its coach and atmosphere. Marinette, on the other hand, had been at Dupont Dance Center ever since she could walk - when she began to show an affinity for dancing, her parents had immediately enrolled her into dancing classes. Mabé was with her all that time too, so she was more of a second mom to her.

Although many people said it was awful that her parents enrolled her in classes and that they didn’t even wait until she was old enough to make her own decisions, she argued that dancing was what was destined for her. When her mother’s brother had married a Puerto Rican woman, she was the one who had sparked her interest for dance. With a glimmer in her eye, she would sway Marinette to the sound of drums and trumpets as she felt the soundwaves rattle her bones. Her aunt had loved the rhythms of the island so much that she and her husband eventually ended up competing in various latin competitions. So it was something that she had grown accustomed to, and would be forever grateful to her parents and her aunt.

Once she reached Adrien’s dance studio, she chained up her bike on the bike rack that was a few feet away. When she came here at first, she was so nervous about the building she was standing in front of that she hadn’t noticed that a rack was there at all. But now she had been to the studio so much that everything was starting to become more familiar to her.

She didn’t waste any time in going to the changing room, slipping on her dancing skirt, heels (she still needed to get a new pair), and an airy blouse that floated whenever she spinned. Marinette walked into the main dance room, but didn’t have the opportunity to say hello or anything else to Mademoiselle Chamack (Marinette felt weird calling her Nad, so she held back on the nickname even though Adrien insisted it was okay) because she was busy working with some other students.

The other week she had warned them that she wouldn’t be able to work with them as much because she had to focus on getting other students ready for an upcoming competition. Marinette said she didn’t mind - all they really needed to do was work on the routines they had already started, and if they were struggling on anything, they’d try to fix it on their own until she was available. Adrien agreed that everything was under control and that Chamack wouldn’t have to worry. Besides, they weren’t entering any competitions yet so there wasn’t any rush.

Marinette saw that Adrien was already stretching, his hair in a careless disarray and his eyes looking out into the distance. His face was spaced out in deep thought, and it made her wonder what it was that he was thinking about.

Adrien blinked out of his reverie as he heard the door shut behind Marinette. He smiled, gesturing with his hands for her to come over.

Without missing a beat, she quickly walked over to him and they both sat down on the floor to begin their stretching and warm ups. 

“Nad looks especially serious today, so I wouldn’t even look in her direction if I were you,” Adrien said as he spread his legs and pressed his chest to the ground, Marinette pushing against his back in turn.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she replied, her hands putting pressure on his back as well.

The gears in Marinette’s mind began to turn as she thought back to her conversations with Alya. She was honestly curious as to what kind of relationship Adrien and Chloe had, and whether he would go back to her, just like he did all those times before. But she was a little afraid to hear his answer - what if after all that time he and Marinette spent together, he thought it wasn’t enough? Or that he had decided that he liked to dance more with Chloe than with her? He wouldn’t be so cruel, but what kind of couple continuously breaks up and gets back together? Maybe it wasn’t her place to ask him about it, after all.

“Alright, your turn,” he said, green eyes turning to look at hers as they switched places.

As his hands and body pressed against her back, Marinette had decided that it didn’t matter what kind of relationship he had with Chloe - he was dancing with her now, and he was so stubborn in getting her to dance with him that there’s no way he would back out now. He was going to stick with her until the end of time (or maybe until one of them moved away or something), and that was okay. He wasn’t going to leave her anytime soon.

Once their stretches were over, they shook out their arms and legs to really get their blood flowing.

“So I was thinking we could work on the samba - I know there’s this one part where we do a variation on the promenade and counter promenade runs, and then we go into traveling voltas. Do you think we could work on that for a little bit?” Marinette brushed down on her skirt and worked out some of the kinks in her neck.

Adrien nodded in agreement. “Yeah, it’s a little messy; let’s see what we can do,” he said, stretching his arms out a bit more before Marinette came towards him.

Marinette took his outstretched hands and moved into position for the dance steps. When they began the first promenade, there wasn’t any electric shocks or currents like when they first danced. The sensations hadn’t completely disappeared; they were still there, just controlled. They couldn’t forget how it felt when they first danced together, but if they were being honest, the ability to sense those currents passing between them, but not letting them distract them from the dance worked so much better for them.

As they worked out the kinks in the steps, they were looking a lot better than when they first started. And they didn’t even need Chamack’s help! That was a big win in their book. But as soon as they worked out those particular samba steps, they immediately went to work on the tango, and whatever it was they needed to sort out there. That’s how it was for the next few hours: identify, correct, congratulate, move on. A few days were meant for sorting out dance moves, and other days would be cleaning them up more. Eventually they would combine the moves they had cleaned up for each dance until it was as smooth as butter. Really, the end goal was to have a presentable routine. 

Sometimes it was a bit silly. At one point when they were trying to make their hops for the quickstep look more natural, Marinette started to burst out laughing because Adrien’s hops looked so stiff. It was as if someone had poured ice down his back, and she had to pause to double over. Adrien looked offended at first - that’s how he had done them before and it hadn’t been a problem. Marinette couldn’t believe no one had told him how ridiculous he looked.

“If I hadn’t been paying attention, I would’ve thought you were a penguin, Adrien,” she coughed out in between wheezing laughs.

Adrien rolled his eyes but laughed wholeheartedly, eventually admitting that he  _ did  _ look ridiculous. Of course, Marinette showed him how to make his hops lighter, how to use the curve of his body to his advantage. They went back to work to fix other moves, but it wasn’t always boring during practice.

The studio still had about two hours before it was supposed to close, but they had decided to call it a day because they already accomplished so much. Marinette hummed in approval at their progress and Adrien gave her a charming grin. Everything was going right, and Marinette had totally forgotten about her and Alya’s conversation.

That is, until Chloe strutted into the studio.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is a lil bit longer because i couldn't really space it out into two chapters.
> 
> updates will probably pick up in pace around the end of may (?) since that's when i get out of school :> i'm also open to any kind of criticism/comments about the work and its pace, if you want to see less of something, etc. - go for it!
> 
> also, Marinette's aunt will be talked about a lot more in the next part of this series (¬‿¬)


	8. natural opposite

There was a different charge in the air when all three of them were in the same room.

At first, Marinette hadn’t noticed that she had walked in. She had just gotten out of the shower, her hair in loose waves around her shoulders and she was wearing the same clothes she had on earlier. As Marinette walked, she had been so focused on adjusting the strap of her duffel bag that she had bumped into Adrien.

She was confused - why wasn’t he moving? She moved past him so that she could see what was blocking the way. Marinette felt her heart skip a beat when she saw that out of anyone else in the world that could’ve been in that same dance studio, it had to be Chloe.

Her blonde hair was pulled back into a slick ponytail, her makeup meticulous. Of course, it looked like she wasn’t wearing any, but Marinette could recognize the “natural” look anywhere. Chloe wasn’t wearing her practice clothes, but the fuchsia duffel bag that was hooked over her shoulder, her crisp jean skirt, jacket, and silk pink blouse all fit so well within that dance studio. It made Marinette uneasy.

“Oh, Adrien! Fancy running into you here. Are you just about to leave?” For as mean as Chloe was towards Marinette and how she had acted towards Adrien at the competition, she seemed totally . . . flirty.

Flirty?

“Yes, actually. I just finished practicing with my partner so we’ll be out of your hair,” Adrien replied, his demeanor absolutely stoic. He looked down at Marinette, apologizing for being so defensive. Her eyes told him she understood.

It was when Adrien had looked down at her that Chloe finally acknowledged her. Marinette read her face as easily as a book - first, confusion. Realization. Disgust. Fake surprise.

Marinette didn’t trust it at all; she immediately became defensive. If she snapped at her, Marinette would snap right back.

“And who is this. . . girl? Your partner, you said? You already found one so quickly,” Chloe said, less like a question and more like something matter-of-fact.

“It’s only been a few weeks, Chloe. And besides, you left me; of course I was going to find another dance partner, and a fantastic one at that,” he said, his voice casual but his eyes challenged her. 

Marinette looked at Chloe and saw that her expression was absolutely taunting, but not malicious - she didn’t seem threatened by Adrien’s demeanor at all, and it really made her wonder how often they had conversations like this. When Chloe talked with Adrien, she sounded every bit the good-natured, positive competitor, but her words betrayed her. Beneath them was something else at play, and it took a bit more from listening in on their conversation to understand that Chloe was  _ beyond  _ pissed, which made her think back to Alya’s words:  _ she’s very vindictive; I’d watch out if I were you _ .

The blonde girl began to laugh, the sound ringing throughout the studio. “Fantastic? We’ll see, we’ll see. It’s such a tragedy, though, that you’re not with me - your dancing won’t be the same.”

Adrien rolled his eyes. “Oh, I’m  _ sure  _ I’m just going to mope and suffer without you. But really, this breakup was for the best. Not just for you, but for me too.” Here, he was being honest. Marinette didn’t know much, of course, but they probably had more problems than she originally thought.

Marinette decided to finally speak up; she felt excluded from the conversation even though they were talking about her right in front of her. “This  _ girl  _ has a name - Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I’m sure we’ll see each other on the dance floor again soon,” she said, the conviction in her voice ringing true.

Chloe looked at her - this was the second time she had even glanced in her direction ever since she recognized her at the beginning of the conversation.

With a sneer, she said: “Now I’m positive your dancing won’t be as magnificent as always. What a shame.” All light-heartedness was gone and was replaced with outright malice. Marinette’s eyes widened, not sure what to say; the response caught her off guard.

“Don’t insult her. You don’t know what she’s capable of,” Adrien replied swiftly, his tone abandoning any and all friendliness. Chloe scoffed.

Marinette thought it was maybe the scoff that did it. Adrien stormed off, not even looking behind to see if Marinette (or even Chloe) was following him or not. She supposed his fury wasn’t letting him think rationally. Regardless, she gave Chloe one last look before trailing after him.

She pushed the doors of the building open and spotted Adrien standing a few feet away, pacing back and forth. When she approached him, he looked up from his pacing with apologies written over his features.

“Marinette, I’m so sorry for how she acted. Chloe’s always been unbearable, and I know how to deal with that. But you don’t deserve her fury,” he said, running his fingers frustratingly through his hair.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“If you want me to talk to Nad about her I will. She won’t let any of her students act like that.”

“Adrien, really. It’s not your fault. Plus, I’ve dealt with her snobbery; I can handle anything she throws, kicks, and hisses at me,” she said, giving him a playful wink. He paused, caught off guard by her nonchalance, but then he burst out laughing.

“Well I’m glad she doesn’t bother you. But I really want to make this up to you since just talking to Chloe is pretty . . . tiring. Do you want to maybe come over to my house for dinner?” Adrien’s good mood was slowly coming back as he picked up his things he had left on the ground.

Marinette’s words caught in her throat. Go to Adrien’s house? Was that really okay?

“I don’t know, I mean, it’s not really necessary . . . ” her words trailed off as she rubbed her arms in nervousness. She didn’t know why she felt so nervous at the prospect of going to Adrien’s house - maybe because it was like sharing a private piece of yourself to another person? Or maybe because she didn’t think being that close to him was okay? Either way, she wasn’t totally sure if dinner was the answer.

“Why not? The food won’t taste awful, if that’s what you’re worried about. And I think it would be nice to have some company over; the house is too big and quiet,” he told her, his voice becoming much softer. Vulnerable. Marinette looked up at him to see that same sweet smile on his face.

What was the harm in visiting his house if he insisted?

Marinette sighed, but smiled. “If the food tastes terrible, I’m blaming you.”

“Yeah, alright!” His mood immediately picked up speed as he loaded his bike with his things. He waited for Marinette to unchain her bike, pack up her duffel bag and other things before he pedaled ahead of her, looking back every now and then to see if she wasn’t shuffling behind. He was incredibly excited to have someone over, Marinette supposed.

Adrien was a bit further away from the dance studio than Marinette had imagined. It took them a good fifteen minutes of pedaling to finally reach his house. Once they reached it, Adrien kept on biking towards it, but Marinette had to pause; Adrien had said that the house was big, but she had never imagined for it to be so massive!

An arched gate separated the outside world from the mansion, archaic architecture against a parisian town. But the technological upgrades betrayed the place’s age - Adrien had to press a few numbers on the keypad on the gate’s wall in order to enter. 

“Hurry up before the gates lock you out,” he said, waving her over.

Marinette sluggishly processed his words before riding towards him. When she had entered and she heard metal clank against metal, she looked up, up, up and couldn’t believe a single house could hold so many windows. It looked more like a conservatory than an actual house, really. Marinette then noticed the endless stairs that stretched in front of her, and decided it would be best to lay her bike against the stairs instead of trying to drag it along with her duffel bag.

“No one’s going to steal it, so you don’t have to chain it up or anything.” Adrien waited by her as she took off her duffel bag and shifted it onto her shoulder.

As they made their way to the front door, it didn’t take long for Adrien to find his house key, put it into the lock, and open the door in a few quick movements.

“Welcome to Casa Agreste,” he said, his voice an odd mixture of comfort and resignation.

Marinette wasn’t sure whether she wanted to step inside or hop on her bike and run away. In a few seconds, she decided on the former as he held the door open for her. 

It felt so cold.

Met with a contrast of dark and light, Marinette wasn’t sure if she had walked into his house or a modernist art exhibit. There wasn’t any sense of it being an actual home. Home was familiar smells, loud noises that were a comfort instead of a distraction, and you could take off your socks and know that the ground that you stepped on was your own; home was where you could unwind after being in the outside world for so long - here it felt like you were not allowed a moment of rest. It really bothered her.

The only thing that gave it a semblance that someone was living here was the portrait placed above the stairs ahead of her - Adrien and a man Marinette assumed was his father. But as she looked closer at it, image-Adrien’s eyes were completely absent of the playfulness she was used to seeing. He looked. . . tired. Defeated. She decided that she didn’t like it.

“. . . this way.”

“I’m sorry?” Marinette felt terrible for not listening to him. He smiled and brushed it off.

“The kitchen’s this way. Follow me.”

She trailed behind him through a series of doors until they came upon a room that looked more like it belonged to five star restaurant rather than a person’s home. Still, Adrien navigated throughout the room with ease. 

“How do you feel about chicken sandwiches?” Adrien looked at her from his place halfway inside the fridge.

“As bad as I feel for the chicken, I think they’re delicious,” she replied, matching his grin with her own.

“Okay, good. Because that’s one of the few things I can make without messing up.”

“Really? What can’t you make? Like, even just thinking about the food and you’re like ‘no, anything but that’.” Marinette sat on the stool by the counter and leaned her cheek against her palm.

Adrien paused before answering. “Eggs.”

She laughed. “But they’re so easy! What, do you forget to put cooking oil on the pan or something?”

He popped out of the fridge to make a face at her. Marinette laughed even harder.

“They just look like they don’t need any oils! And I always forget,” he grumbled, continuing his search and setting ingredients every now and then on the counter.

“Ah, but you can make chicken. Not eggs, but chicken,” she pondered aloud. To her, chicken just seemed to be a bigger hassle to make.

“And you can probably guess which choice I pick whenever someone asks me the question, ‘which came first?’.” Adrien shut the fridge and he began to start the stove and get things together.

“I bet you would pick neither just to be edgy,” she said, grinning as he gave her another one of those looks.

“Damn, it’s kind of creepy how well you know the ‘Young Prodigy, Agreste’,” he mocked the nickname the dancing world had dubbed him as he slapped the chicken with seasoning.

“You don’t like the name?”

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Not really, no. Anything would be better than a name that puts me on a pedestal.”

Marinette never thought that he had issues with the name - she always had assumed that he reveled in it. She had never felt so relieved to be wrong.

“What would be worse than ‘Young Prodigy Agreste’?”

He pondered the question for quite a bit before answering. “Adrien Egg-reste,” he said as he crinkled his nose. She found it to be very cute.

Her eyes widened at the thought and she quickly squelched it, hoping that he couldn’t see the heat rising in her cheeks.

They continued their banter until he had finished their meals (Marinette of course asking him if he needed her help, and if he said he didn’t, helping out anyway), and Adrien suggested that they could eat here instead of the dining room. Marinette agreed without hesitation - if the dining room was just as big and threatening as the main room, then she definitely didn’t want to go in there. Which was fine with her because they were having fun here; pure, unadulterated fun. Marinette wondered if he had laughed like this when she wasn’t here.

Just like she had thought before, going over to someone’s house was like showing someone a personal piece of themselves. What she had found when coming into the Agreste household was that it was a vast and lonesome place. If she hadn’t seen the portrait in the main room, she would’ve thought that his constant smile and charm didn’t have an off switch. 

But right now all she could see was his joy, so she didn’t want to dwell on it for too long. Right now they were talking about Kinder Eggs and what made them so good - Marinette thought it was the anticipation for the toy inside; Adrien thought it was the chocolate itself and how it gave your teeth an ache, but an ache in a good way.

Marinette giggled. “I don’t know, I mean a good ache? It sounds like it hurts more than it - ”

“Adrien?” 

Both teens turned towards the voice coming from the door to the right of them. It belonged to a man with silver hair slicked back to the nape of his neck. Horn rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose and they hid a pair of blue eyes that seemed to reflect more than absorb.

“Father,” Adrien said, immediately shooting up from his seat to stand ramrod straight.

Marinette looked between the boy and the man, trying to find a similarity between them. She couldn’t find anything at first glance.

“What are you doing here?” he queried, his voice incredibly formal.

The man stepped inside the kitchen, but did not move from his spot as he folded his hands behind his back. He looked like the pinnacle of what a business mogul would present themselves as. Maybe Adrien’s father was some sort of business man?

“I was in such a hurry this morning that I had forgotten something here - I wanted to pick it up before it got too late,” Adrien’s father replied, his voice totally composed. His eyes flashed over to Marinette and it sent shivers down her spine; she never thought blue eyes could look as cold as stone.

“It seems you’ve forgotten to introduce me to your friend here, Adrien.” The man gracefully strode over to where they were. He held out his hand for Marinette to shake, and she quickly took it, giving what she thought was a tight, swift shake. 

She felt so embarrassed because her hands were so sweaty. Mr. Agreste must have definitely thought that she was nasty.

“She’s my new dance partner. You know, the one I was talking about? Her name is Marinette.” This time his voice sounded a bit warmer than before.

“Yes, nice to meet you Mr. Agreste,” she chimed in.

Mr. Agreste scanned her up and down; she wasn’t sure if the look in his eyes was neutral or full of derision. She hoped it was the former.

“Marinette? Well, let’s just hope that she lives up to her name, now shall we?” His voice was something akin to something airy, but for some reason Marinette felt his words to be less than friendly. She wasn’t sure whether to feel flattered or insulted.

Before she could think about it any further, the older Agreste left the room, taking the easy going atmosphere from before with him.

Luckily, Marinette didn’t have to go through awkward conversation with Adrien now that they finished their meals and it was starting to get late. He lead her back through the rooms so she wouldn’t get lost, and had even walked with her as she went and picked up her bike from the ground outside and adjusted her duffel bag on it. 

“It’s pretty late. Do you want me to come with you?”

One of Marinette’s hairs had wandered out of her ponytail and she brushed it behind her ear. “No, I’ll be fine. And if I get lost, Google Maps exists, so it’s okay,” she joked.

“Really?”

“Really. And I’ll let you know if anything goes wrong.” Why was he so concerned? It made sense that maybe now that she was his dance partner, he didn’t want to lose her because of a bike ride home gone wrong. That made a lot of sense to her.

“Don’t just say that and not do it; I’m serious,” he nagged, but she could see his lips quirking up.

“Fine, fine.” The words seemed kind of awkward - at least it matched the atmosphere. As her eyes met his, though, all their tenseness began to disappear. Well, not completely but at least a little bit.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he called after her as she steered her bike out of the gates.

Marinette’s thoughts on the bike ride home kept on returning to Mr. Agreste’s words:  _ “Let’s just hope she lives up to her name.”  _ What did he mean? And why did it seem like he didn’t like her at all?

It took her longer than normal to finally go to sleep that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey y'all! i'm putting this one out a bit early because i won't have time tomorrow to do my normal edits :^( nice treat, though!
> 
> also i feel so bad for marinette omg the judgement from other people just never s t o p s. one day her suffering will end, tho. one day
> 
> thank you all so much for the support!! i don't know where i'd be without the constant outpour of kudos, bookmarks and comments. even if i don't respond to each and every comment, i just wanted to let you all know that everytime i read a comment, my lifespan increases five years. no, seriously, i liiiiiive for comments omg


	9. collect

“One, two, three-and-four. Five, six, seven-and-eight,” Marinette counted aloud, her heels clicking against the wooden floor. Adrien tried slip their variation in between their steps, but found it a little tough with the pace they were going at.

Right now they were practicing the cha-cha-cha with the hope that they could figure out the footwork they wanted to do, in addition to working with the natural sway of their bodies.

“So when I go this way, you go this way, and then we can do this heel kick,” Adrien told her, tightening his grip on her waist for the slightest of milliseconds to show her how they were going to do this particular move.

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” she murmured, nodding as he began to lead her in the direction he was pointing out before.

“Mari, Adrien, come here,” Mabé called out to them, waving them over to her corner.

Right now they were in Marinette’s dance studio. Honestly, she felt much more comfortable at Dupont than at Françoise – her movements were much more assured because she knew the dance studio so well. She also knew that if you stepped on the floorboard by the third mirror, it would make a nasty creak that made her forget her count. She always tried to steer Adrien away from that particular spot whenever she could.

“Is there something wrong?” Marinette breathed out heavily, her body drenched in sweat. Her hair was in a slight disarray, so she pulled it out of the loose ponytail that it was in and redid it into two low pigtails.

“Nope, everything’s right. I’ve been talking with Nadja for a bit and we think that you two are ready for your first competition. What do you say?” Mabé was absolutely beaming as she put both hands on her hips. She looked between the two kids, her eyes trying to read their answers before they could actually put it into words.

Marinette was totally enthusiastic – this was the test she was waiting for! She really needed to dance with Adrien on an official dance floor, and hopefully this upcoming competition would be her best bet.

“I think it’s a great opportunity! What do you say, Adrien?” Marinette clasped her hands together excitedly and looked up at Adrien, hoping to see the same excitement reflected in him.

She wasn’t let down. “Yeah! I think we’ve been making great progress so far – this should be interesting.” Adrien grinned and ruffled his hair.

With a burst of energy, Marinette hugged him from the side. She didn’t anticipate him picking her up and spinning her around. For some reason she was simply ecstatic to be able to be on an actual dance floor with someone that she felt she could really dance with, and she wanted to share that joy with Adrien as well.

“Nathanael! You were this close to being late – I would’ve hunted you down, you know,” Mabé crowed towards the door he was coming in from before turning back to the student she was working with.

His name snapped her out of her delight as she realized that her face was way too close to Adrien’s – too close for comfort. Marinette could feel her face heating up as her eyes met Adrien’s for the briefest of moments. She patted his arms, signaling for him to let her down.

“Oh, sorry,” he murmured, Marinette’s heels clacking on the ground as she was let down.

Marinette’s back was towards Nathanael. She brushed down her dance skirt, fixed her blouse, even adjusted the straps on her shoes just to prolong the inevitable. She wasn’t sure why she didn’t want to face her old dance partner, but she knew that she was going to have to see him and talk to him, one way or another. Also, she hadn’t seen Nathanael in a while; even though she felt uneasy about talking to him, she was genuinely curious as to what he was up to.

Taking a deep breath, she turned towards Nathanael and strode towards him, all the while Adrien’s green eyes stared at her back.

“Hey, Nathanael! How have you been? I feel like I’ve been so busy that I haven’t seen you in forever,” Marinette said, her mouth curved into a smile. Nathanael turned so that he was totally facing her, and when his eyes met hers, her body began to relax – she had expected to see sadness, or malice, or even regret in them, but she only saw serenity.

“Oh wow, it _has_ been a while. And yeah, I’ve been pretty busy too.”

“Really? I would’ve thought that you were relaxing now that you’re not being dragged to places with me.” The words came out before she could stop them; it just felt so normal talking like this with Nathanael that she forgot that some things wouldn’t be appropriate to talk about with him. But the words didn’t register badly in any way, shape, or form, much to Marinette’s relief.

“I’ve actually been helping Mabé out with dancing lessons – just taking a break from competing is all,” he replied, a smile quirking at the edge of his mouth.

“Didn’t think you were the teaching type,” she said jokingly, crossing her arms over her chest. Now the conversation was really flowing just like it had before.

“Weird, right? I didn’t think so either! But it’s helped me . . . grow. And I get to share what I’ve learned from dancing with you, and I really like it. I really do.” Nathanael’s words just sounded so. . . so _right_ to her that she couldn’t help but believe him.

“Nathanael! Rose needs some assistance,” their coach interjected, cutting their conversation short.

With a small wave, Nathanael said goodbye as he went over to this girl just a bit shorter than him with hair styled in a pixie cut. Nathanael made a few gestures and explained to her how to get into position for the waltz. Even though she seemed inexperienced, she looked eager to learn. When they began to dance a few basic steps, the girl stepped on his feet every now and then and she apologized profusely. An honest laugh rang out from him as he corrected her mistake and told her it was alright – they could take it as slow as she needed it to be. It contrasted how she and Nathanael were when they had started dancing together; he had been so eager to learn difficult steps that they would end up going home with blisters on their toes.

Marinette felt her heart swell with happiness – he seemed to genuinely enjoy what he was doing and he found someone else to dance with, even if it wasn’t with her anymore.

Turning back to her current partner, Marinette saw that Adrien’s eyes were burning with curiosity. She replied with her own that she would explain to him in due time, and he nodded, accepting her silent gestures.

“So,” he began. “I asked Mademoiselle Bustier a little bit more about the competition and it’s called the Local Megeve Competition. Apparently it’s pretty small; it’s mostly dancers in our age group, and they’re all at different levels of experience. I wouldn’t count on it being an easy win, though,” he concluded, raising an eyebrow to egg her on.

“Wasn’t counting on it.” Marinette replied.

“You still want to go through with it?”

“More than anything.”

“Even if it’s two weeks away?” This time his raised eyebrow with the rest of his expression made him look more quizzical.

This made her pause; two weeks? Would that be enough to polish up their routines well enough for a competition? As she looked at Adrien, his face expectant as he waited for an answer, Marinette decided that they still had the opportunity to put their skills to the test, and they just had to try their best. If it didn’t go well, then that just meant they needed a bit more practice to make it to the Grand Prix.

Oh god, were they really going to try and compete in the Grand Prix?

Of course, she thought to herself. Of course. Then her dreams would be so much closer to becoming a reality. And with Adrien at her side, there was nothing that could hold them back.

“Yes,” she finally said, her voice full of a newfound conviction.

With a cheeky smirk, Adrien nodded and he held out his hands, offering for her to take them. Without hesitation, she clasped them in her own and spun back into his arms and they practiced their routines until Mabé had to kick them out of the studio.

 

*

 

After two weeks of nonstop dancing, sweating, and sleeping when their heads touched anything even remotely soft, the day had finally come for Adrien and Marinette – the Megeve Competition.

It was further than they had anticipated. Taking the train there had been . . . quiet, to say the least. Marinette was so nervous that she could feel that her stomach fluttering with butterflies, but she knew that once she stepped foot on the dance floor, everything else would dissipate until she was only left with her spot on the floor and her partner. Still, that didn’t stop her from wiping her sweaty palms on her jeans. Adrien had his headphones plugged in, eyes drawn to the buildings flying by them. He also seemed absorbed in his own thoughts, and she didn’t want to bother him.

Marinette competed in larger venues ever since she was fourteen when she was finally able to join the circuits for the older age groups. Smaller competitions with smaller venues weren’t at the forefront of her mind because she was so focused on going up in rank and being good enough to compete in the Grand Prix. Of course those things were important, but she hadn’t realized how much she missed the warm, comforting feeling that the smaller venues emanated.

The place wasn’t fancy, and it wasn’t too modern either. Tables dressed in blue tablecloths surrounded the dance floor, and people were scattered all around them, their voices a low hum.

Marinette inhaled. Exhaled. Sweat, tanning spray, and perfume permeated the air and instead of comforting her like it usually did, her heart rate increased tenfold. A few weeks honestly felt way too long to be away from a legit dance floor.

“Hey, it’s going to be alright,” Adrien murmured. She looked up at him and saw that his green eyes reflected comfort. Kindness.

“You’re right,” she sighed. “I always get nervous before a competition.” Marinette gave him a sincere smile.

She took another deep breath and the smells that were pressing on her before swirled around her in familiarity. Her demeanor changed into something much more centered as they strode towards their changing section.

“You never told me what dresses you’re wearing,” Adrien said, unzipping his duffel bag. They sat down a little separated from the hub of activity. Marinette didn’t want to get hit by tulle, so she nudged him towards a more remote section.

“What?” Marinette didn’t look up at him as she took off her jacket.

“Your dresses? I’m curious. At the last competition you had an array of dresses but I don’t remember them too well,” he admitted, raising his hand to brush through his hair, but paused when he remembered that his golden locks were gelled back.

He probably doesn’t remember your dresses because he was too busy looking at your feet, she thought.

Marinette touched her duffel bag for the briefest of moments and glanced up at Adrien. Both of his hands were covering his mouth, his face enthralled and expectant. Was he really that eager to see her dance dresses?

A smile quirked at the edge of her lips as she unzipped her bag, pulling out the two dresses she had brought with her.

One was to be used for the waltz and quickstep, and it was a beautiful shade of sky blue. The sleeves had to be slipped on, and it connected to either side of the dress to make it flow more. Unlike the first dress, the second dress – for the samba and tango – came up above the knees in a flair of green tulle. From the rest up, though, it was a solid black color and it went over the shoulder.

“The green reminded me of your eyes,” she mused, now that she looked closer at the dress.

“Interesting choice,” Adrien replied, looking between the second dress and Marinette.

Did she really say that loud enough for him to hear? Marinette felt her face flush as she stuffed the green dress back into the duffel bag and zipped it up hastily. She kept the blue dress out and balled up the fabric in her left hand.

“I’ll – I’ll go check what heat we’re in. Don’t wait up for me,” she quickly told him, getting up from her spot in a flourish. She left Adrien sitting there, half dressed and mouth agape.

Oh god, she was beyond embarrassed! She had thought in passing that her tango dress matched Adrien’s eyes, but she never realized that as she packed up that particular dress for today. And how could she speak so carelessly? Even though Adrien was her partner, he was still her better. She shouldn’t be getting too comfortable with him. Jeez, even going to his house that one day was so not called for. He was her partner and nothing more. And besides, even if were totally different, he couldn’t see her. . . like that.

Marinette shook her head, trying to dissipate her thoughts. Honestly, she should just – just focus on the competition ahead of them and everything would be okay! Just breathe, she told herself. Just breathe.

When she got to the wall with the heats displayed, she took a sharp intake of breath and it made her choke.

Of course Chloe was going to be here – why did she think it was going to be any different?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooooh Marinette oooooohh ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


	10. unhacked

Coming on the train, Marinette was a little jittery, but _that_ was normal. Now she was in full panic mode, and she didn’t have Adrien with her to tell her everything was going to be alright. Not that she needed him or anything, she mentally scoffed. She was able to handle her jitters for ages and she didn’t need him to pat her on the back or anything.

Okay, she was losing focus on what was in front of her: Chloe Bourgeois, dressed in her normal clothing (or as normal as Chloe’s clothes were), looking at the dance board. She wasn’t facing her, which meant she hadn’t noticed her, so Marinette still had the option to go hide somewhere if she really wanted to. She could hide long enough until Chloe walked away from the board and she wouldn’t have to face her again. . . hopefully.

Marinette nodded to herself, fully convinced that her plan had no flaws whatsoever and that she would be able to escape with her pride intact.

Sadly, that’s just not how life works.

Glancing at her out of the corner of her eye, Chloe noticed Marinette as frozen as a statue. With a smirk, the blonde stalked towards her, the floral, light blue dress she was wearing swishing with each step.

She didn’t even hesitate to begin her tirade against Marinette, the distance between them feeling like miles instead of two feet.

“I’m surprised you’re at this itty bitty competition – I thought the big leagues were only good enough for you,” she immediately shot off, obnoxiously chewing her gum in between her words.

The trembling in her fingers began to slowly dissipate. Why was it that Chloe always had something nasty to say when Marinette had never done anything to her? At least, she had never done anything directly. Even so, why did Chloe think Marinette wouldn’t defend herself, even if Adrien wasn’t there?

“Are you sure you’re not looking in a mirror?” Marinette snapped back. Her smoky eyeshadow made her eyes look absolutely lethal when she narrowed them.

“Oh, she speaks! And she has comebacks, too! You could’ve fooled me, hiding behind Adrien and yapping away the last I saw you.” Chloe made her hand do a barking gesture and giggled at her own words, probably thinking she had just made the best joke in the world.

“I don’t need Adrien to defend me, Chloe. And besides, the way I remember it, _you_ were the one yapping away because . . .” Marinette pretended to contemplate, tapping her pointer finger against her cheek. “Oh, that’s right; you were bitter! Bitter because you’re not dancing with Adrien anymore,” she finished, her tone absolutely smug. It was mean, she knew it was, but Chloe had it coming. Marinette saw with satisfaction the mirth slowly burning out of the blonde’s eyes.

“It’s not going to stay that way for too long –”

“See, you say that. Every time. But that’s not going to happen this time, and you’re just going to have to deal with it,” Marinette cut her off, tired of listening the same excuses coming out of her mouth. She didn’t consider herself a cruel or malicious person, but _god_ when it came to hearing Chloe speak, Marinette swore she wanted to tear her own hair out from the roots.

Okay, maybe she didn’t want to do that. But she really annoyed her.

“Honey,” Chloe began, not listening to the other girl’s words. “He’s going to come back to me. He always comes back to me, so don’t make yourself too comfortable,” she hissed, clutching the handle of her purse a bit tighter than normal.

“Come back to you? He’s not some dog you can lead astray with a few bones,” she spat. “He knows he can do better, and that’s not with _you_.” And there it was – one of the few truths Marinette barely wanted to admit to herself, out in the open.

There was such a brutal honesty in her voice that Chloe had to take a step back, her eyes slightly wider than before. Marinette totally and utterly believed that Adrien could do better without Chloe. He was already a magnificent dancer, but Marinette believed it could be stellar. And for some reason, Chloe almost believed it.

Almost.

Chloe wasn’t going down without a fight.

“We’ll just see how you fare on the dance floor,” Chloe replied weakly. With a huff, she stalked away and Marinette didn’t turn around to see her go.

She felt an odd mixture of horror and triumph. Did she really just say all those nasty things to Chloe? Out loud? She considered herself a patient person; she gave a lot of people the benefit of the doubt. Whenever someone didn’t seem like their normal selves, she would always brush it off as lack of sleep, or that something might have come up for them that was really stressful. Ninety-nine percent of the time, she was right. But she couldn’t give Chloe the benefit of the doubt when literally every time they had met, she was snarky towards her. There’s no way that her nastiness could be attributed to stress. Even if it was, that wasn’t an excuse for her to treat her like she did.

She even felt bad for talking about Adrien like he was . . . some sort of ragdoll she could just tote around whenever she wanted. He deserved more respect than that, especially when he had shown nothing but kindness and respect to her.

Although she did feel terrible for telling Chloe all those things and talking about Adrien like she did, Marinette felt a bit proud for not letting her take advantage of her anymore; for standing up for herself and out beating the Queen of Mean. For being honest about her relationship with Adrien.

 _But was she totally being honest with herself?_ That little voice in her head whispered ever so softly.

Marinette was confused for the briefest of moments – what wasn’t she being honest about?

The thought disappeared as quickly as it came, and she ignored it, trying to focus on the task at hand: checking what heat they were in.

Walking over the board, she quickly skimmed and found the information she was looking for. Out of curiosity, she also skimmed to see if she could find Chloe’s name on the sheets of paper stapled all over the wall. To her surprise, there wasn’t a trace of her name whatsoever.

She didn’t exist in this competition.

Then what was she doing here?

 _Focus,_ she snapped at herself. Now was not the time to get distracted. She still had to slip on her waltz dress and find Adrien.

Find Adrien.

The thought itself made her breathe easier as she slid into one of the nearby bathrooms and shuffled on her dress. It swished on the ground as she walked towards their little corner. She still needed her heels and she snapped those on as Adrien adjusted the collar of his button up.

Moving towards him, she fixed the back part of his collar, her fingers grazing the skin on his neck. He lifted his chin to allow her better access.

“Chloe’s here,” she said, her eyes flicking up to meet his to gauge his reaction.

“She never shows up to these things. Not even when we were dancing,” he replied, his eyebrows slightly quirking up in surprise. She saw his jaw lock.

“She’s not going to be on the floor, so she won’t be able to bother us,” she murmured. Letting her hands trail on the lapels of his jacket. He looked down at her and nodded after the a few moments.

Together, they walked to the edge of the dance floor. Marinette felt her nervousness come back again, and she was so frustrated that she couldn’t keep the calm she had before on lock. It always happened before she was supposed to dance, and she should have been used to it, but that didn’t change the fact that it still happened.

She told herself to breathe in and out, the breezy material connecting from her wrists to the waist of her dress fluttering with every slight movement. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Chloe seated among the rest of the spectators, her blue eyes focused on them and only them. There wasn’t a trace of smarm or mirth in her look; she was going to observe them and judge them critically.

Before her nerves could jump again (seriously, by the end of the day her body was going to be so tired from all the stress she was putting herself through), Adrien placed his hand on top of hers, the pulse in his hand reverberating throughout her own. She looked up, and her cerulean eyes met his jade ones. A small smile graced his face, and his look was more than enough to calm the buzzing of her thoughts, but he still voiced his anyway:

“We’ve worked so hard; we can do this,” he whispered to her, his mint breath brushing against a few of her loose hairs.

Marinette nodded. When the music began, her nervousness had completely dissipated and her body immediately slipped into professional-dancer mode. With the surest of movements, she snapped into position for the waltz: one hand on his shoulder, the other clasped in his own hand.

And they moved.

The breath flowed in and out of her lungs.

When she danced with Adrien in the dance studios, the existence of the electric currents was still present in their touches and in their routines, but it became much more controlled. The first time they danced, their touches were full of so much power that it was almost unbearable, but never unpleasant. Overwhelming, then. When they practiced, it was subdued. But now, their feet gliding against the wooden floors, her competition skirts brushing against her thighs, and the feeling of Adrien’s wrist cuffs pressing against her own wrists, the fact that they were partners was much more tangible.

The currents passing between them weren’t subdued anymore, but they ebbed freely between them. Like ribbons slowly wrapping around them to push them closer, but swirling out when they did their routines.

Now, on this dancefloor, Marinette realized how wonderful of a leader Adrien truly was. Every movement, every step was measured and controlled; so sharp, and so clean that Marinette could cut herself on it. He nudged her for them to stand on the balls of their feet like they had practiced, and she melded easily into the step, her body from the waist-up curving ever so slightly. She closed her eyes, relishing the breeze passing between.

She had never felt so beautiful.

Adrien gently pulled her back up to the position they were in before, and she saw a calm assurance settling in his gaze. Marinette had forgotten for the smallest of seconds that the competition scene wasn’t anything new to him. He was used to moving with stealth and power across a floor, and the fact that he was dancing with someone else didn’t diminish that sensation. However, he was still trying to get a feel for how Marinette danced on an official floor, and she could feel his body sometimes clench with uncertainty, but the smallest of squeezes made him come back to focus on the task at hand.

They continued their clockwise route around the dance floor, and of course Marinette had her moments of playing the role of the leader – when it was time for them to turn to the right to do a fallaway reverse slip pivot, she nudged him, and he understood very quickly. With the move complete, they slid back into their routine, their legs stretching far, moving grandly across the floor, rising and falling whenever it was called for.

In no time, the two minutes were up, and the music swelled to a stop. Adrien spun her away, and the fabric of her dress trailed behind her like ocean waves. She bowed and gestured towards her partner, recognizing his skills as well as her own. Surprisingly, a good portion of the audience applauded heartily for them. Marinette racked her mind, and briefly remembered the audience – in addition to Chloe – watching them closely and expectantly.

Speaking of Chloe, Marinette looked over to where the blonde was sitting and saw that whereas everyone around her was clapping fervently, her hands stayed defiantly on her lap, mouth turned into a grimace.

It didn’t bother her as badly as it had initially; Adrien’s words and gestures had calmed any sort of hesitation in her body and mind, and as she took his hand to leave the dance floor, she could only think about the rough texture of his palm against her own.

Within the next few minutes, the judges had announced the pairs that would move on to the quarterfinals, and of course, Marinette and Adrien were among them. How couldn’t they? Marinette felt that their dancing had come as natural as breathing, and the checks they received reflected that; their posture, hold, poise, and even power had been given full checks. The rightness – the togetherness – she felt when they danced was easily visible.

When they looked at the postings together, Adrien was completely ecstatic.

“I thought our seventh spin looked a little messy, so I was a bit worried,” he confessed, rubbing the back of his neck (he settled for touching that rather than his hair).

 “Not at all! You were wonderful, really,” Marinette quickly assured him, her hand reaching to grab the top of his arm.

She paused, and let her hand swish back to the side of her dress. She didn’t know why she hesitated in touching him, or why she could feel a slight heat rising in her cheeks from simply praising him.

Marinette was telling the truth, but it didn’t feel that way.

“Oh come on; if anyone was wonderful, it was you! I don’t think I’ve ever met a person that can move quite like you,” Adrien complimented, shooting her a grin before looking back at the sheet on the wall.

She was grateful that he had turned away from her, or else he definitely would have noticed her bright, tomato-red face.

In the quarterfinals, they were to dance the tango, Marinette’s favorite. This competition wanted to mix things up a bit with constant costume changes, but Marinette didn’t mind. At least, right now she didn’t – everything was going so well that she was actually ready to go _on_ the dance floor.

When the trumpets blared, they immediately spun into each other, their momentum pushing them towards the center of the floor. Although their waltz moves were sharp, this time their routine was a razor, cutting through dancers like it was nobody’s business. After every turn, Marinette’s feet would snap back together until they had to move from their spot and Adrien moved them in the direction he saw fit.

Once again, those electric currents slid through and between them as if they were living and breathing. Whenever Adrien would pause to tilt her back, the currents expanded to allow her to go as far back as she wanted, but still keeping her balance. It left her breathless how. . . how _different_ this kind of dancing was from the kind she was used to. This dancing was something Marinette never knew she needed, but once she had a taste of it, she realized she needed it like air. How she was able to dance before was incomprehensible – Nathanael was a wonderful partner, but how it felt before was like a few raindrops before the storm. But this, this was the storm she was waiting for.

And she reveled in it.

A disturbance in the currents cut off her thoughts.

Marinette knew there was something wrong because it felt as if the current/ribbons that were wrapping around them had a sudden tear in them – it didn’t damage the current entirely, but it was still _there_.

She realized that they had bumped into someone. Normally, it would have frazzled her a little bit, but Adrien had strategically shifted them away so if someone had been looking for a split second at the bump, but then looked back, it looked as if it had never happened.

Okay, everything was fine.

Except it happened again. And then again.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

They had bumped into other competitors three times. What was going on?

Marinette regarded Adrien with confusion in her eyes – was it something that she was doing wrong? And why couldn’t she sense the other dancers around her? She was met with an equal amount of confusion and the slightest bit of fear. He didn’t know what was going on either.

And then it hit her – they had never danced together like this on a floor full of people before. The bumping didn’t happen with the waltz because that is the first dance any dancesport competitor learns. They hammer the waltz into you until it becomes as routine as riding a bike, or tying your shoe. And during the waltz, the line of dance – the direction of where all the dancers are headed – is solid. Variations out of the norm don’t exist in the waltz. The tango, on the other hand, doesn’t totally follow the line of dance and is much more prone to mishaps.

They never practiced in a roomful of people. It wasn’t something they thought as important to consider, but now that they’re on the dance floor, the importance of dancing with other people flashed like an emergency sign. Even though they were both amateur dancers, they didn’t practice something like that _together_ – that was still new to them.

Before Marinette could become even more frazzled, the two minutes were up. Adrien spun her and she bowed, gesturing towards him all the while keeping a smile on her face, but it was becoming increasingly difficult.

Marinette found herself looking in Chloe’s direction and she could feel a lump rising in her throat by just seeing the cruel satisfaction on Chloe’s face.

Trying her best to not rush off of the dance floor, Marinette kept her head down. The green material of her dress began to blur as tears welled up in her eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Adrien,” she croaked, putting the side of her fingers against her eyelashes to catch any stray tears.

Adrien had kept a brisk pace beside her as she speed walked off the dance floor, his mouth set into a stern line.

“Marinette, please don’t apologize.”

“But it was my body that kept bumping into them! I probably cost us this competition,” her voice hitched on the last word. Taking in a deep breath, Marinette tried to calm the tremors in her chest and arms.

As much as she told herself that this competition was simply to test their partnership and nothing more, her heart still felt that it was a real, high-up competition. Every competition mattered, if she was being honest. The only difference were their sizes, but otherwise, everyone had to try their best at every single one.

“Really,” he said, reassuring. “This isn’t your fault at all – I’m the leader, so I’m the one that should be blamed if we don’t move on. I should’ve danced around them better,” he ended, his voice telling her that he would argue with her if she told him otherwise.

“But I couldn’t blame you,” she hiccupped. “You’re a wonderful leader. We just need more practice, I think. We’ve never danced in a full room like this before,” she said softly.

He contemplated her words for a bit. “You know, I think you’re right; we’ve always practiced alone, and expecting ourselves to know how to dance in a room full of people wouldn’t be fair, right?”

“Right.”

“So we shouldn’t be too hard on ourselves. Like you said before, it just matters that we tried our best.” Adrien seemed satisfied with his answer as he gave Marinette’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

It was true; this wasn’t a signifier that they were terrible dancers, but rather that they needed to do a little more work, and that was okay.

“As cheesy as that sounds,” he added on, after Marinette really took his words to heart.

She pressed a hand to her lips, trying to stifle the giggle that was threatening to spill.

With a (somewhat) renewed confidence, they waited for the quarterfinal results with baited breath. This would determine whether they really did need to work on their dancing more, or if zeroing in on their partnership and how to make that connect flow better was the answer.

Marinette released the breath she didn’t know she was holding when the posted results revealed that they had somehow moved onto the semifinals. The grip she had on Adrien’s sleeve loosened when they saw their number on the board. She knew she should feel relieved that they hadn’t been kicked off, but there was still a sick, nasty feeling in her stomach that wouldn’t let her rest.

Contrary to Marinette, Adrien was incredibly pleased that they had moved on – he enveloped her in a hug for the briefest of moments, and before Marinette could even think about hugging him back, he released her and went back to looking at the board, his hand pressed against his mouth as his face settled into deep concentration.

 _What was he thinking hard about_? Marinette wondered.

Now that they were in the semifinals, they were given even less time to rest as Marinette changed back into her blue dress for the quickstep.

Similar to the waltz, there were long, elegant steps but at three times the speed. Marinette’s dress swished with each quick, successive step and with every turn, Adrien’s face would light up.

Even though they had the little dilemma with the penguin hops (which they fixed), their quickstep was simultaneously graceful and playful – right when the swing music began to play, they ran until they had gained enough momentum to jump high enough to extend both legs and simulate a split. They were able to do three of those until they reached the edge of the dance floor and stretched up as if a cord was being pulled from the top of their heads. Marinette extended her legs en pointe, and Adrien mimicked her.

She was having so much fun with each little skip and jump, but one glance at Adrien put her to shame; he looked as if he were walking on air with each movement, and he had to stop himself a few times from laughing. He didn’t have to tell her that the quickstep was his favorite, but she could tell from each kick of his leg and the way his grip on her was both confident yet loose. It allowed their bodies to move in even smaller hops and gain more momentum.

Once the music flourished to a neat stop, he spun her in place, and they repeated the same routine as before. Marinette didn’t even glance in Chloe’s direction this time.

Again, they moved on to the finals where they performed their samba routine, their confidence building up with each step on the dance floor. A spin and bow later, they were finally finished with their first competition together. Ever. It was a stressful, yet exciting event and Marinette felt that her feelings right now reflected how she felt during her first competition when she was younger. The only palpable difference was who she was dancing with, but she couldn’t complain.

The voices around them buzzed as they waited for the judges’ final decisions.

“Do you want to sit down?” Adrien gestured towards one of the free chairs next to him.

Marinette was so nervous she couldn’t sit down, but her feet did ache a little that it would be better for her to take a seat.

Pursing her lips, she finally responded by giving him a short nod. The chair was a little too tall, so her toes touched the floor rather than her heels. Adrien slouched over from behind her, his arms resting on the back of the chair and his face to the right of hers.

“It’s been a long day – for the both of us. Just take a breather, Marinette. It’ll be okay,” he said, his voice quieter than usual since his mouth was literally right next to her. His breath fanned over her curls and she tried to steady her breathing, but not because she was out of breath from dancing.

What was going on with her?

The hum of the room had become much more silent as the judges announced places for the dancers.

They ended up in fifth place.

When Marinette and Adrien had gone up to the podium, accepting their respective flowers and medals, she looked back towards where Chloe was sitting before. Marinette saw that she looked totally and utterly unsatisfied, what with the disdain written all over her face. Marinette didn’t have to hear the scoff she emitted before getting up from her seat and walking away.

Although Adrien’s words were still floating around her head, she still couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that they could have placed better if they had practiced with more people around them. As if Marinette could have prevented it if she had thought about all the possible outcomes to their partnership.

As she began to pack up her things, her brows were furrowed and her face was deep in thought. If there was anyone to blame, it was herself; she should have been more aware, talked about it more –

“Marinette, are you okay?”

She looked up and blinked, the concern in Adrien’s voice jolting her out of her thoughts.

“I’m just – ”

“Don’t say you’re fine, because you sure don’t look it,” he told her, his voice stern. His lips were pursed as he stared at her, his face expectant.

She sighed; of course he was going to see right through her.

“I kind of feel like it’s my fault, you know? And we did try our best, I know that. But I also should’ve known that practice is not the same as competition,” Marinette finally replied. At some points he wanted to cut her off, but she held up a hand telling him to wait until she was finished.

She also thought back to Chloe’s judgmental gaze. Chloe wasn’t impressed, and Marinette wasn’t sure she could prove her wrong.

Marinette and Adrien were wonderful dances, she knew it. They just needed more practice, but they could’ve avoided this whole situation had she thought ahead. If only she had thought ahead.

“If that’s the case, then I’m as much at fault as you are.” His mouth wanted to curve up into a friendly smile, but instead he looked at her solemnly. Of course he was the kind of person that would want to shoulder the blame.

“Let’s just go home, Adrien.” Marinette gave him a small smile and finished zipping up all her dresses in the duffel bag.

Regardless of what Adrien told her, she would still see it as her fault.

The train ride home was even more quiet than when they arrived.

And Adrien was still worried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i struggled between splitting this chapter up, or leaving it as is, but since this is kinda the moment we've been waiting for for a while, i thought one big 'ol chapter would be better :^)
> 
> love ur kudos, bookmarks, and comments - keep em coming!


	11. impetus

 

“One, two, three, four. Don’t, forget, to turn, here,” Mabé shifted Marinette’s body with her hands, placing them on her shoulders. Marinette let her body flow with all the touches, Mabé’s and Adrien’s grasps hopefully being able to help her with the variation.

It had only been a few days since Adrien and Marinette had competed in the local competition, and the time had definitely not diminished the feeling that the screw up during the tango was her fault.

Whenever they tried to practice the tango, Marinette would hesitate until Adrien had to coax her into the steps by telling her that the tango was something they had to do for every competition and one mess up couldn’t ruin it forever. She would then dance with him, mostly afraid that the dance she loved the most would become the one she couldn’t stand. Sometimes it took her longer to come to him, but he was always patient just like he was at the beginning.

Right now though, Adrien kept on staring at the clock on the wall. The constant tick tick ticking of the hands, rather than her own, were grabbing his attention. Although Marinette claimed that he was always patient with her, was his patience finally wearing thin? Was that why he kept on looking at the clock because he couldn’t wait to get away from her?

Why was she overthinking things? Maybe he was just really pressed for time and it had nothing to do her. She just needed to breathe and focus on their rumba routine, and not the way his flickering eyes were driving her mad.

Yeah, easier said than done.

Once the clock struck seven-thirty, he let her hands fall to her sides and he sped walked over to where his things were. Marinette turned towards Mabé, hoping she might have an answer to his edginess, but she was too busy closing up the dance studio.

Adrien wasn’t speaking to her and it made Marinette’s stomach churn. What if he was regretting being her dance partner now? And why did her mind keep on coming up with these goddamn ‘what if’s’? It was so frustrating; she wasn’t allowed a moment of rest!

They were both walking out of the door when Adrien finally spoke to her.

“Sorry I have to leave on the dot – my father needs me at home,” he told her, his eyes finally focusing on her. She breathed a sigh of relief; so he wasn’t upset with her.

“Right this minute?”

“Yeah, it’s important I guess. That’s not what I wanted to talk about, though.” Adrien was now looking around for any cars that looked as if they were going to pull up to the curb. Marinette assumed that there was probably someone coming to pick him up which was why he seemed to be in such a rush.

“What’s up?” she asked, curious. Her brows furrowed at his words and the possibilities they held.

“I know we’ve been dancing for competitions and stuff and that’s all good and fun, but how about we go dancing for fun,” he said, offering the idea that she could either take it or leave it. Even though he was still on the lookout for cars, he took the time to give her his attention, his eyes searching hers for any sort of answer.

Dancing for fun? Well, she hadn’t done it in so long, and she always considered ballroom dancing fun, so that was her ‘dancing for fun’. What did Adrien have in mind that was so different?

“Sure.”

“Yeah? How about tonight around eleven-thirty?”

“Eleven-thirty? But it’s a school night! I could get in trouble, Adrien.” Marinette was horrified at the thought.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a dark blue Toyota creep up and Adrien’s face immediately shot up, looking in the direction of the vehicle.

“Just sneak out to the dance studio; I won’t make you come if you’re concerned about making noise. Plus, I’ll have you back early,” he rushed out, glancing back and forth between the girl in front of him and the looming car.

Marinette saw how pressed on time he was – he didn’t even have time to finish buttoning up his shirt, a few of the top buttons left to be connected; his blond hair was a mess of waves and curls, and his green eyes were fervent. Hypnotizing.

She had to make a decision now, or else she felt an opportunity like this would never come up again.

“Yes,” Marinette finally blurted out, watching the curve of his mouth shift upwards.

“Alright! I’ll see you later then,” he yelled out to her, already jogging towards the car.

“Oh yeah,” he added. “Don’t forget to wear a dancing dress. Any kind!” The door shut when he slid inside, the words almost becoming a millisecond close to being cut off.

Oh god, what did she just agree to? Dancing at night? Without her parents’ permission? And with Adrien?

Well, she had told herself that she needed to trust him more ever since they had begun dancing together. And it goes both ways – if he trusted her to be at the dance studio tonight, then she had to trust him and his plans.

Shuffling her duffel bag on her bike basket, her mind was already roiling through the possible dresses she could wear. The black one with sequins? The black and green one with the ruffles? Or maybe the off the shoulder pink one? The possibilities were (almost) endless. But he hadn’t told her where it was they were going since he was in such a hurry.

When she got home, she glanced at her phone and the thought of texting Adrien for more details briefly crossed her mind. She thought about it as she placed her bike in the garage and greeted her parents. In the end, though, she decided against it. He was probably busy doing whatever it was that his father needed him to do, and she had a gut feeling about the dress she wanted to wear, so she decided to go off of that instead.

Throughout dinner, she felt so guilty about sneaking out after curfew that it was hard to concentrate on her parents’ conversations.

“. . . practice going?” her mom queried, her knife and fork slicing through the fish on her plate.

“What? What’s going on?” Jeez, if only her voice could stop sounding like she was up to something.

“I said how’s practice going – are you okay sweetie?” Marinette’s mother placed her hand on the table, leaning towards her daughter with concern.

“Oh, I’m fine! I just have a lot of homework to do is all,” she lied. “Practice is going great. Mabé’s helping me a lot with this one variation we’re working on for the samba.” At least that much was true.

“That’s wonderful, Mari. Let us know when a competition is coming up so we can close up shop and see you,” said her father as he looked up and gave her that smile – the one where his eyes crinkled and she could see her own within them.

Somehow, they were able to make her feel even more guilty.

After she finished washing the dishes (it was her turn anyway), she crept up to her room and tried to do her homework but just couldn’t focus. Plopping down onto her computer chair, she spun around a few times trying to think about anything else other than tonight, but it was physically impossible. Marinette glanced at her phone, thinking about calling Alya and telling her about what she was about to do so maybe, just maybe, she could talk her out of it. But knowing Alya, she was probably going to insist to Marinette that she should go. That she _had_ to go. And of course, Marinette would be too weak to fight against her and give in in the end.

So maybe she could hold off on calling Alya for a little bit.

Marinette decided that maybe she could nap and the time could pass by quicker if she had her eyes shut for longer than a second. She didn’t even take off the covers as she laid down, closing her eyes and evening out her breathing until it looked like she was actually sleeping.

The green numbers on her electric clock flicked to eleven.

Her eyes snapped wide open.

When Marinette was sure that the entire house was silent and she couldn’t hear the creaks and moans it usually made when someone was walking around, she went to her closet and unhooked The Dress.

She slipped it on and took a few looks at herself in the mirror. The dress was a beautiful shade of red, the fabric from the waist-up made of black lace with a flower design. It went slightly off the shoulders, but what she lacked in fabric on her shoulders it made up with sleeves, and the rest of her dress from the waist-down swished against her thighs, and cut off slightly above her knees, but fanned out beautifully when she twirled. It was one of her many, many favorites.

Marinette opened the window to feel what the weather was like and it just seemed a little bit chilly, so she slipped on some black tights to match her heels. She also decided on bringing a jacket with her in case it got a bit colder later, and slung on a bag with a pair of flats, her keys, and her phone.

Peeking out her door from both sides, she began to sneak down the stairs and tried to make as little noise as possible. Marinette remembered seeing in the movies how some people would try escaping their houses through the window, but the fact that she lived on the third floor in an apartment-like building ruled out that option completely – even if she did consider it at some point. Her feet skipped around the creaking steps, and once she hit the ground floor, she quickly picked up the pace, going to the garage to take out her bike stealthy and thinking that if she got out of there as fast as she could, her heart would stop feeling like it was going to burst out of her chest.

Shutting the door behind her, Marinette closed her eyes and squeezed her bike handles. The breeze was such a blessing against her skin. She didn’t wait for too long, though, as she hopped on her bike and pedaled over to the dance studio that was slowly becoming solely not only hers, but Adrien’s as well.

Adrien.

The thought of him made her smiley and nervous all at once. Marinette began to think back to when she would see him at competitions, but she was never that close to him – physically, that is. He always seemed so far away and out of reach to her, the A-rank boy that dominated so many dance floors and magazine covers. And then Adrien glanced in her direction, smiling apologetically. He didn’t seem too far away from Marinette then, just a boy who dealt with cranky partners just like anyone else. It made him . . . more human to her. Honestly, she was so scared of him at one point that she wasn’t sure if she really did admire him like everyone else did.

And then he chose her to be his dance partner. Which, of course, she denied, but that didn’t stop him from coming after her.

Marinette didn’t know why he was so insistent. What made her a viable choice against all the other dancers in Paris? She was sure that there were many other girls who were far more experienced than she, and infinitely better. Yet, he was still persistent. And patient. Even when she told him about her fears and issues with trust and being with a different dance partner. It all seemed so odd to her.

But that didn’t stop her from _wanting_ to dance with him.

Marinette secured her bike to the lamppost with her chain and checked her phone – eleven-thirty. Hopefully he wouldn’t let her wait outside in her dress for too long.

As soon as the thought came up in her mind, a sleek black car pulled up next to her. Marinette took a step back, wary of the person hiding behind the tinted windows. The passenger’s side window rolled down to reveal a grinning Adrien, hands casually placed on the steering wheel.

“Hop in!” he told her, unlocking the car doors.

She looked at him, mouth agape. She didn’t know much about cars, but she wasn’t an idiot. The rims, the headlights, the sound it made (or lack-of) as it was waiting for her all added up to equal one really expensive car.

“What is this?” she didn’t mean to sound accusatory, but it ended up coming out like that anyway.

“Um, a car? Come on, we’re running on a schedule if you want to get home early.” Adrien honked the horn for a millisecond and Marinette jumped out of her skin.

“Be quiet!” she angrily whispered. “I know it’s a car, it just looks . . . kind of . . .” Marinette didn’t know why it was so hard to get the last word out, but she gestured to the entirety of the car, hoping he was connecting the dots.

“Expensive?” he offered.

“Yeah! This looks like it’s worth more than what my dad makes in a year,” she said, half in awe, the other half deeply disturbed. This car had to be crazy expensive; there was no way around it. How could he afford something like this? Well, it made sense – he _did_ live in a mansion.

Adrien sighed. “It’s actually my dad’s. He won’t let me have a car of my own, not that I would get anything expensive like this if it was my car,” he added on quickly.

“Does your dad know you took his car?”

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Besides, it’s not like we’re going to crash it or anything.”

“Adrien!” Marinette still looked at him warily.

“Time,” he enunciated each syllable, wagging his eyebrows in a way that made her huff in annoyance.

With a last look at her bike, praying that no one would steal it, she slid into the vehicle, the leather of the seat making it easier for her to fix herself and her dress comfortably inside. Without a second to spare, he immediately pulled out of the curb and drove, navigating the streets of Paris with ease.

“So,” Marinette began, “If you have this car, why do you ride your bike? I mean, I love riding my bike, but that’s because I don’t really have anything else.” She tried to fill the car with words, not knowing how long it would take them to get to wherever it was that they were going.

He hesitated a bit before answering. “You’ve seen my house; there’s no doubt that I’m made of money,” he said, sounding like that fact really bothered him. _Really_ bothered him.

“No doubt,” she agreed, seeing out of the corner of her eye the way his lips quirked up slightly.

“I don’t know, I guess I like riding my bike and not driving these things because it makes me feel. . . normal. The only reason I’m even driving this right now is so you wouldn’t have frozen if we rode our bikes.” Even his joking sounded genuine to the point that Marinette had to pause and think about his words before answering.

“Sneaking out after curfew is as normal as it gets,” Marinette finally replied. Adrien laughed at her honesty, the mood lightening up little by little.

Even when she didn’t know what to say, she sure knew the right words to make him feel better.

They eventually passed by a club, the building spilling out music. It had such a loud bass that Marinette could feel the ground moving beneath her. A line of people snaked around the club, and she could hear their voices permeating through the air and past the slightly opened windows of the car.

“I wonder what makes that club so popular,” Marinette mused aloud as Adrien drove past the club.

“We’re about to find out,” he said, sounding a little too giddy.

Marinette turned to look at him and saw that he parked a ways away from the club, but still close enough that she could still hear the music thumping. Adrien turned off the car’s engine, opening and closing the driver’s door behind him as he went around to open Marinette’s door.

“You’re not serious.”

“As serious as a heart attack,” Adrien replied, waiting patiently for her to get out of the car. She didn’t totally believe his words.

Marinette hesitantly took the hand he offered her, using his grip to pull herself out of the vehicle. Under the streetlights, she could finally see what he was wearing and it made her heart beat twice as fast.

She didn’t know why she wasn’t paying attention before, but her eyes were now zeroed in on the black shoes that seemed to wink at her, his pair of slim, gray chinos, his tucked-in open-collared white shirt, and jacket that was slung over his arm. It was different from seeing him wearing his competition clothing because it was something that every male competitor wore, and the clothing he was wearing now seemed like something he would wear on the daily. Plus, his hair wasn’t slicked back like it normally did when he wore his sharp suit; this time, his unruly golden curls and waves were falling a bit more in his face than they usually did.

“Should we get going?”

Oh god, she hoped she hadn’t been staring at him for too long. “Y-yeah! We don’t want to miss on some quality whatever it is we’re doing.”

Marinette wondered if a ray of lightning could zap her out her misery right at this moment – that would be _wonderful_. Quality ‘whatever it is that they’re doing’? She sounded like a total dolt!

Adrien blinked, finally taking in her figure as well. “You look . . . your dress . . . it’s very, um, stunning,” he stumbled over his words, running a hand through his already-mussed hair.

Oh!

Marinette tugged through a few of her loose curls that brushed idly around her shoulders. Besides the dress, she had only clipped a side piece of her hair up and applied some dark red cherry lipstick on her lips. Without it, she seemed to pale. With it, it really completed the look; whatever ‘the look’ was, she wasn’t too sure.

“Thank you,” she murmured, adjusting the strap of her purse on her shoulder. She thought about whether or not she was really going to need it before tossing it into the car.

Adrien followed suit and put his jacket in the car as well before he shut the car door behind her and locked it with a small remote in his hand. It beeped, and he placed a hand on the small of her back, leading them away from the car and towards the music that was slowly growing louder with each step.

Marinette was used to his hands touching her, but this time it was a different sensation from when they danced; usually his grip was so sure, but now it was just protective. A little tighter than it normally was. Was it the neighborhood that made it uneasy? Or was it her appearance? She didn’t know, and she didn’t know how to ask.

Marinette had seen the line of people from her place in the car and it already looked pretty long then. Looking at it up close, however, she saw that it wound around for two or three more blocks than what she had originally seen. Now she was starting to freak out – it looked incredibly exclusive, and there was no way they were going to get in and be back before it got too late and her parents realized she had sneaked out.

Adrien strode right past every person in the line until he reached the very start of it, a really big, intimidating bouncer blocking the entrance and picking and choosing who had the ability to enter.

“Hey Louis, what’s up, man?” Adrien beamed, going up to the guy and doing one of those semi-elaborate guy handshakes.

“Nothin’ much – same old same old. Haven’t seen you in a while, kid,” Louis cackled, letting the teens in much to the other patrons’ disdain.

It was such a different world inside of the unobtrusive building.

On the outside it didn’t look anything too special, but once they were inside, Marinette saw that there were three levels to the dance club scene, the dance floor taking up at least half of the club’s floor. People had to walk down four steps of stairs to get on the main floor, and metal railing trailed all around the slightly elevated level, separating the dancing from the drinking and conversing that took up the attention of the other people who weren’t on the dance floor. Metal bars holding spotlights were way high up on the ceiling, but that didn’t stop them from shining directly onto the club, an array of blues, reds, oranges, and yellows illuminating the dancers’ twists and kicks. On the other side of the dance floor, a DJ was spinning discs, flipping switches, and turning knobs so that the music of the atmosphere stayed just like it was meant to be.

Oddly enough, the DJ wasn’t playing any of today’s hottest hits, but a remix of what sounded like Marc Anthony, a salsa artist.

With every beat of the drums, she could feel the vibrations moving throughout her, but she never felt like she had wanted to leave a place so much in her life.

“I’ve never been to a club before,” she shouted at him over the music, her hand gripping his rolled-up sleeve.

“Really? Well, you’re about to have the time of your life. Trust me on this, Marinette,” Adrien looked down at her, those vivid green eyes of his still projecting honesty even in the murkiness of the club.

Marinette nodded, the grip on his sleeve loosening. As soon as she began to get used to the feel of the dance scene and the dancers spinning on the floor, Adrien began to move away and Marinette panicked – was he going to leave her right now at this instant? He wasn’t allowed! He dragged her here so now he had to stick with her like gum.

“Adrien, what –”

“I’ll be right back, give me a second,” he called out to her as he ran ahead, weaving through the throng of dancers until she couldn’t see where he was going anymore.

Not knowing what else to do, Marinette froze on the spot – she couldn’t dance by herself because there were only partner dances, and she couldn’t buy anything to drink because was pretty sure everything that they were selling at the bar was not meant for her. Why did she even agree to this? She had so many opportunities to back out and tell him no; Adrien even gave her the option of outright telling him no, but of course, she told him yes. Yes, yes yes and she couldn’t deny him! That was going to be her downfall one of these days –

Her heart stopped when she heard the swell of an accordion; she knew that song . . . the _Libertango_. Why was the _Libertango_ playing?     

Marinette whipped her head over when she saw a flash of blond out of the corner of her eye. Adrien was coming back towards her, but he didn’t stand by her for long; grabbing her hand, he began to lead her to the dance floor.

“I hope you can do the Argentinian Tango,” he said, his voice carrying along with the music. Marinette could only see the lines of his back so she couldn’t see if he was excited, nervous, or both.

The Argentinian Tango?

Marinette peeked out from behind Adrien to see who was on the dance floor and she saw nine or ten couples doing promenades and cortes, their moves looking so clean and refined that Marinette hoped that her moves would look as good as that one day.

“I can, yeah,” Marinette eventually replied, feeling the grip on his hand shifting into dancing position.

“Good; this could’ve gone really bad otherwise,” he flashed her a quick smile before pressing the other hand on the small of her back.

All of the other dancers on the floor reminded her of the flop that they had at the competition. When her body started to lock up from the memories that were flooding her mind, Adrien spoke to her:

“Keep your eyes on me. Follow my lead. Trust me,” he said.

Trust; that word kept on coming out of him like water spilling from a broken faucet. Usually when a person uses a word enough it begins to lose its meaning, but every time he said it, she could feel the word becoming a part of him as much as it was becoming a part of her.

With Adrien leading, all she had to do was follow. Marinette adjusted her hands so that one was on his arm and the other tightening the grip she already had on his other hand.

The Argentinian Tango can be characterized differently than the Spanish Tango – here, they had more of an ability to do slow, intricate movements that really reflected the passion between the two dancers. Adrien didn’t hesitate in taking that and running with it.

Adrien began by pulling away from her, his hands still holding onto hers. Slowly, with the sound of the accordion and violins, he stared intensely at her as he pulled her towards him again. His face was completely stoic, his mouth pressed into a firm line, but his eyes, those eyes of his . . . she could feel them _burning_ inside of her. The rings of his irises were absolutely smoldering and Marinette felt like she was going to fall right then and there if his hands weren’t holding her up.

She didn’t think about what she was doing anymore. She simply felt the electric currents, whizzing out of control around them as Adrien became the leader and framed her.

When he finally brought Marinette back to him, she was pressed so close to him that she swore she could feel his heart beating against her chest. It was a steady thump that seemed to drum along with the music and it sounded just as beautiful to her.

Adrien pulled her away again and when he began to sink to the ground, she followed him. They rose once again, gradually, and he pressed his cheek against hers. Everything right now was skin on skin and she wasn’t embarrassed by it.

When they were finally standing, Marinette felt her body reacting to all of his little movements and she even lead him a few times, too. She lifted her left leg so that her knee was just about touching his back, the red fabric of her skirt falling back and she could feel her (almost) bare thigh exposed to the air. Instinctively, she moved her head to the side so that her neck was exposed. When his nose, his breath skimmed across her skin of her neck, she shivered.

Every part of her that he touched made her feel like she was on fire.

When her eyes flicked over to his, she saw that passion radiated out of him like sun beams. She wasn’t surprised to see a similar passion reflected in her own. Marinette had no clue where this passion was coming from, or why her body was reacting the way it was, but she couldn’t question it. Not at that moment. Right now, she could only _feel_.

And it really felt different; every touch, every look vibrated throughout her unlike anything before. When she danced, she thought about each gesture and variation, but right now everything seemed to flow out of her naturally. Now, her heart was erratically beating out of ribcage, her eyelids feeling so heavy that the only thing she could focus on was the parting of his lips, and her body feeling like it was burning, burning, burning, under Adrien’s gaze and touch.

When he dipped her and brought her back up, the way his hand crept up her spine made her shiver and lose her breath so much that she thought that she was going to collapse and not be able to finish the dance. But he always pulled her back in, her feet flicking and pointing, and her legs moving and curving around him out of their own accord. He was unleashing this stream of passion into her that she couldn’t help but mold herself against him in order to spread it back.

Every single thing he was doing to her was making her a breathless mess, and she had no control over what she was doing. She was his puppet on a string.

When the music finished, they ended up close together, their chests heaving with exertion. Her cerulean eyes searched his lovely emerald ones; they were so bright, so full of life and bliss – were they always like that? She had to have noticed, or else she must have been blind. Marinette could feel herself melting in his arms, and that was when all the dots began to connect.

His never-ending patience, his kind, encouraging words, the way his smiles sometimes annoyed her, but always made her short of breath. Even his honesty about everything life had thrown at him and his loneliness that hid behind dance costumes and mansions – he allowed her to see and bask in everything about him. This boy, this amazing dancer who could have chosen anyone else to compete with him, but instead he chose her to dance with him under these bright lights. Every word and gesture of his drew her in, and it was no wonder that she would have eventually fallen under his spell, too.

Marinette’s eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat.

When did she start falling in love with Adrien Agreste?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'VE BEEN WAITING SO LONG TO WRITE THIS CHAPTER AAHHHHHHHH H H H H H 
> 
> and this is probably my longest chapter to date o m g


	12. drop

Marinette took a small step back.

Two steps.

Three.

She wasn’t sure if she was relieved to put a label to all of her feelings, or if she wanted to throw up. Everything was coming at her too fast, way too fast; the lights, the voices, and the smells. Oh god, she could _smell_ Adrien, the mixture of his cologne and sweat making the butterflies in her stomach flutter wildly.

Maybe she wasn’t in love with him! Maybe she was just reacting to the dance and the atmosphere is all. But that didn’t justify the reason as to why her heart was still beating a hundred miles a minute, her breathing still coming out in small pants even though the dance ended forever ago.

“Alright, it’s time to go go go,” Adrien rushed out, checking the time on his watch and making a face when the time reflected wasn’t what he expected.

Grabbing Marinette’s hand, he bobbed and weaved them through the crowd of dancers until they finally reached the glass doors they had originally entered through.

Adrien saluted Louis on the way out and Marinette was grateful for the cool air brushing against her cheeks, inhaling the air even as Adrien was dragging her to the car.

 When they were close by, he realized that he was still holding onto her and abruptly let go, turning his face away from Marinette and clearing his throat.

“Sorry I, well, I pretty much dragged you didn’t I?” Adrien laughed in embarrassment. “I didn’t want you to get lost in the crowd and it’s pretty late. I know you said you wanted to get home early.”

Marinette was already on the passenger’s side, opening and closing the door behind her. “Wait,” she said. “what?”

“The time? It’s a little after one in the morning.”

Wait.

What?

“One in the morning!?” she screeched, making Adrien jump in his seat.

“Well, this whole thing wasn’t going to take twenty minutes, that’s for sure,” he sounded baffled.

“Oh, my god – my parents are going to kill me when they find out,” she fretted. Right now all she could think about were her parents sitting in the living room, waiting for her with the lights ominously turned down. They were going to ground her for _sure_ –

Her churning thoughts paused when she looked down and saw that Adrien was brushing his hand over hers, not completely touching her, but his warmth still seeping from his hand to hers.

Oh.

That’s right.

Marinette’s parents could ground her, but that wouldn’t stop the fact that her heart ached for this boy.

The trip was shorter than she remembered it to be. Adrien stopped by the dance studio to pick up her bike and loaded it up in the back, meanwhile Marinette was still in the car feeling dazed and confused. Would everything be different? Could he sense her slight hesitation in touching him? Or that the reason she was hesitating was because she was afraid that she _wanted_ him to touch her? Adrien was in the same car as her; he must have sensed that something was off.

Once they reached her house, he made sure to park a few feet away so that Marinette’s parents wouldn’t hear the low rumbling of the engine. Marinette made sure to gather all of her things and made her way out of the car, her red dress swishing behind her.

“Good night. And if you do end up getting in trouble, I’ll take the heat for it – don’t worry,” he said, lowering the window on the passenger’s side so she could hear him.

Adrien gave her one of those trademark smirks and even under the streetlights, she could see his eyes glinting with something that she couldn’t really put her finger on.

“G-good night,” Marinette stuttered out, turning before he could see the blush in her face. He definitely didn’t know how she felt about him; he acted normally around her without even the slightest awkward gesture. He didn’t know.

When he began to drive away as she reached her garage door, she now knew first and foremost that she was in love with her dance partner, Adrien Agreste.

Heaven grant her strength.

 

*

 

The next day came very sluggishly for Marinette. She couldn’t get enough sleep (well, that was just happening a lot for her lately), but she still felt a little jittery. There wasn’t a day where she wasn’t going to see Adrien, or when she wasn’t going to practice with him, so she just had to get over this feeling of wanting to be as far from him as possible.

It’s kind of weird – loving a boy and wanting to be near him, but still being too scared to reach out and touch him. The juxtaposition of the two feelings was making her head dizzy.

Right now, she was in the Françoise Dance Studio since they switched from her studio to Adrien’s this time. Marinette was still trying to get used to the wide open space that Adrien knew better than she did as she spun into him for the foxtrot.

Marinette was skittish whenever his hand touched the small of her back, though.

After a few times she avoided his touch, the crease in between Adrien’s eyebrows became more and more defined. He didn’t know why after so many weeks of practicing together she was starting to avoid him again.

“Is there something wrong?” he queried. He took a step back and crossed his arms over his chest, trying to steady his erratic breathing.

“What? No, it’s nothing,” she replied hastily, waving away his words.

“Are you sure?”

“Really – your hand’s a little cold since the air conditioner is on is all.” Marinette was such a liar! But she had to come up with something that wouldn’t incriminate her.

“So you’re saying that my hands are too cold and that’s freaking you out?” Adrien sounded dubious.

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to turn down the air, or wear gloves or something?” he offered, already walking towards the air conditioner placed high up in the room.

“Yes – I mean no! No, it’s fine. It’s fine, really. Don’t worry about it.” Marinette’s voice went from being very loud, to extremely quiet in the matter of one phrase. She felt awful for blaming him for her skittishness when the problem was her. She needed to get over what his body and hands did to her if she was going to dance with him.

Besides, they’ve been dancing together for so long already; she could deal with his hands on her. Hands that weren’t even touching her inappropriately! She was just projecting and she needed to stop acting so childish. Seriously.

Marinette held up her hands and arms, waiting for him to step forward and into position so they could continue dancing. Adrien strode over to her, immediately taking her into his arms and turning into a series of spins. As their practice time progressed, she felt herself beginning to relax in her grip when she felt that he was being nothing but professional towards her. She even began to count their steps out loud and making sure that they were on beat. She looked up and saw that he was entirely focused on their steps and movements, his eyes looking at her, but not seeing her.

Were those bags under his eyes?

All too soon, he stopped their dancing.

“Sorry, I have to take off a bit early today. Again,” he said, making his way over to his duffel bag and not making any gestures that suggested he was going to change out of his practice clothes.

“Yeah? Will you stay the whole time tomorrow though?”

“Definitely. I’m really sorry, I really am.”

Marinette paused, not sure if it was in her place to ask or not. “What are you leaving early for anyway?” she tried to make her voice sound as light as possible, but she was being weighed down from thinking about all the possible reasons for him leaving so early. Eighty percent of them being her fault.

“There are just some things I have to do and they’re pretty time sensitive. I’ve been procrastinating on doing them for a while, so I have to get on that. See you later, Marinette,” he replied merrily, adjusting the duffel bag strap on his shoulder before making his way out of the studio.

His quick goodbye and vague words left Marinette reeling. Did he really have something to do, or was he just saying that to not hurt her feelings? What if it really was her fault like she originally thought? And Adrien was too kind; he would never say something like that to her face and then just leave.

Or maybe she was just overthinking things. Adrien seemed cheery as he left, and he definitely couldn’t fake that. Marinette just needed to breathe and everything would be okay.

At least, that’s what she thought.

When the next day rolled around, Adrien was impeccably on-time when it was time for them to practice. But again, even though he said he was going to stay the whole time, he left early again. He apologized profusely for telling her one thing and then doing another, but he said that he wasn’t able to finish what he was doing the other day, so he had to go back and deal with it.

Marinette told him that she wasn’t bothered by it, and told him it was fine. They still had the next day and they could even make up the time they had lost if he wanted to (she didn’t know what drove her to say that they could meet up outside of their regularly scheduled practice time, but she felt that she had to reassure him in some way). Adrien told her that that was true, and he apologized again for wasting her time. He was for sure going to stay the whole time the next day.

But he left early again.

And again.

And again.

Two weeks passed by and their practice just kept on getting cut progressively shorter and Marinette still wasn’t sure what was going on.

Even when he came to practice he was showing up tired. The bags under his eyes were becoming even more pronounced, and at some points during practice he would trip over his feet, his steps becoming too sluggish with the music they were dancing to. He would apologize profusely whenever he miss-stepped in their routine, but she could never be upset at him; how could she? Marinette now knew that she wasn’t the reason as to why he wasn’t all there at practice, but the relief that she had felt from knowing that his tardiness wasn’t stemming from her slowly became worry for Adrien’s health.

What was he doing that was so strenuous that he was so tired all the time and had to leave practice late?

Marinette didn’t think about him for too long today because she was so caught up in the fact that Alya had finally returned from Portugal! Marinette was supposed to meet up with her later that day, and she was excited to finally see her best friend after months of text messages and phone calls. Being able to see her in person was exactly what Marinette needed right now.

“First off, congratulations! I’m so proud of you Alya,” Marinette yelled out to her best friend when she immediately saw her. She ran and enveloped her in one of those warm hugs that everyone says she’s really good at giving.

“Thanks, girl! Even with all the curve balls thrown at me, I never thought I would end up in fifth place. Nino’s an amazing dancer, so there was no way we could have lost either,” Alya laughed. Hearing her laugh so up close in person really hit Marinette with how much she missed her, even if she sounded obnoxiously proud to all the other people around them. Alya had finally completed one of her biggest goals, and that was definitely reason enough to celebrate.

They ended up going to one of their favorite café’s and sat outside, the sun shining as brightly as their smiles. They gave the waiter the same order they always did – a chai tea latte and a mocha latte – and immediately began to talk about everything that they hadn’t spoken about yet, and even talking about little details that they had forgotten to mention over the phone, or by text.

The conversation turned from parents, school, recent fashion trends (recent memes), dancing competitions that had happened recently, and it somehow turned back to Marinette’s partnership with Adrien Agreste. Marinette should have known that that was what Alya really wanted to talk about. Even after she had told her friend that she was now dancing with Adrien, whenever Marinette called her up, Alya would always sneak in a question or two about him.

Always.

“So, what’s been up with you and the Young Agreste?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry i didn't update like i ususally do!! i've just been super busy with finals, and my ballet folklorico performance on friday, and my dad showed up to pack up a few of my things before i go home for the summer and phew i am so tired omg
> 
> but anyways here's to more oblivious children


	13. following

Alya knew something was immediately wrong when Marinette paused too long to answer.

“Everything’s been going fine. We were just in our first competition a few weeks ago, actually,” Marinette added, knowing that Alya loved details more than anything and maybe that would be enough to satisfy her to move onto a different topic. For some reason, the question just felt too loaded to her.

What _has_ been up with her and Adrien?

“Are you sure everything’s alright? You have that look that’s telling me that may not be the case,” she said, her mouth pressing into a fine line.

“Wha –”

“Spill.”

Marinette pursed her lips, thinking about how to form into words what she had been feeling the past two weeks. Anger? Affection? Indifference?

“I think I love him,” she blurted out, waiting her friend’s reaction.

Alya didn’t pause. “Love as in, you think he’s a wonderful guy and love him like a friend or family, right?”

Marinette shook her head, her eyebrows drawing together and chewing on her lips. “No, not that kind of love. _Love_ love.”

“ _Love_ love?”

“. . . Maybe?”

“Holy shit,” The brunette breathed.

“I know! This is so messy,” Marinette cried, shoving her face into her hands. She tried patting her cheeks, hoping the reddish color would dissipate and stop incriminating her.

“Messy? Marinette, the Watergate Scandal was messy; this is . . . I don’t even know what this is!” Alya gestured towards Marinette, her voice matching the other girl’s in volume.

Their theatrics were beginning to garner looks from the other café patrons, their murmuring voices obviously being about the two girls who either kept on slapping their hands on the table or on their faces.

“Why are you even yelling? Shouldn’t this be something good for you? Didn’t you _want_ me to be with Adrien?”

“Having a fling is one thing, falling in love isn’t even remotely in the same range as a fling! Jeez, girl, I thought you knew me.” Alya began to tap her fingers against the table, looking Marinette dead-on and trying to decipher her friend’s thoughts.

“Maybe it isn’t love. I started feeling all funny when we danced the Argentinian Tango –”

“Oh god, not the _Argentinian Tango_.”

“ – so maybe I’m just all, I don’t know,” she lowered her voice, embarrassed at the words that were about to come out of her mouth, “hot and bothered?”

Alya shook her head, not taking the bait. “That’s not it. What made you start feeling all funny, in addition to the tango?”

“Well,” she said, “Adrien’s very . . . kind. He’s super patient, encouraging, he pushes me to be a better dancer, and he also knows that he can still be a better dancer and it’s inspiring, really.”

“Oh, is that all?” Alya replied, her voice thick with sarcasm. Marinette gave her a dirty look that just made Alya lift a brow in response.

Marinette literally just voiced all of the reasons she liked this boy without thinking twice about it, and it was ridiculous to think that the _only_ reason she liked him was because of this one dance they did together in a club.

“That’s it,” she muttered, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Mari, if this boy is such a charming and encouraging person in your life, why wouldn’t you fall in love with him?” Alya let her words simmer as she turned and thanked the waiter that brought their drinks.

Marinette opened her mouth to refute her friend’s words, but as she looked down at the white drink pooling in her cup, she snapped her lips shut. She hated to admit it, but Alya was right. Marinette really did like him and nothing was going to change that.

“That’s true,” she ended up saying, her words sounding more like a sigh.

“Thought so,” Alya snickered. She took a sip of her drink before bombarding her friend with more questions.

“If this has been bugging you for a while, I’m guessing I’m not the only person you’ve told. Does Mabé know? Have you told Adrien that you love him yet?” Alya gasped exaggeratedly, quickly lowering her voice to its proper volume when she saw that the customers were looking at her weird again.

“No! God, no,” Marinette said, horrified, “Who do you think I am, Shakespeare’s Juliet? No, you’re the only person that knows.”

Alya was satisfied with her response, the horror of such a thought rolling off of Marinette in thick waves.

“So how are you guys doing? Is the relationship the same, now that you know how you feel about him?” she took another sip of her drink.

“Nothing’s changed,” Marinette said, feeling confident in her answer. But then the events from the past two weeks came back to the forefront of her mind and she began to feel unsure. “I mean, I think so; he’s been acting a little weird lately.”

“How so?” Alya stopped mid-sip, concerned with her change of tone.

“He’s been leaving practice really early lately. And whenever we have practice together, he’s always tired. Really tired, like, tripping all over his feet. And he says there’s nothing wrong, but I just don’t know.” Marinette began to tap her fingers against her lips, jogging her memory of all of the little mishaps they’ve had during practice lately. She was really worried for him.

“And he won’t tell you what’s going on?” Alya sounded a little baffled.

“Not a peep. He’s been really cryptic,” Marinette replied, her voice grim.

“That just sounds so out of character for him, Mari. I wonder what’s up,” Alya said, placing both hands on either side of her paper cup.

“Yeah, I’m wondering about that too.”

Suddenly, Alya’s calculating face turned into one of surprise, her eyebrows that were drawn together now arching high up into her hair, and her mouth forming into a slight ‘o’.

“What is it, Alya?”

“Well, we don’t have to wonder any longer – wonder boy is just a few feet away from us.”

Marinette felt her heart catch in her throat as she tried not to look around desperately for the boy in question. Adrien seemed to always disappear so well that she wasn’t sure she would even find him in Paris, but somehow he was miraculously close by.

“Damnit! Here, hide behind this newspaper.” Marinette snatched the inked sheets in front of her and opened up the papers fiercely, shoving it in front of their noses.

“Do you see him, too?” Alya’s eyes replaced her fingers, pointing in the direction of the blond boy that was somewhat hidden by the trees.

“I see him, I see him,” she whispered aggressively, her eyes peeking over the newspaper at Adrien who seemed to be walking without a set destination in mind.

“We’re going to lose sight of him, and fast.”

“What should we do?”

“What do you mean, ‘what should we do’? We have to follow him; he’s right there! Now’s the time to investigate what he’s been up to.” Alya had that look in her eyes that Marinette knew so well. Alya wasn’t about to give up, now that she had a goal right in front of her. She was going to get whatever it is that she wanted, whether she liked it or not.

Sometimes that look was super helpful.

Right now? Not so much.

“Spying is _wrong_ ,” Marinette asserted, lowering the newspaper slightly to look over at her friend. “Maybe Adrien will tell me soon enough.”

“Yeah, sure, okay, but what if he doesn’t? Now you’re screwed and he’s going to keep leaving practice early,” Alya argued, lowering the newspaper even further to narrow her eyes at Marinette.

After a stare down that lasted more than ten seconds, Alya scoffed and suddenly got out of her seat, making a zigzag trail towards Adrien. She hid behind pillars, trees, people – anything that would keep her out of Adrien’s eyesight.

“Alya, hold on –” Marinette said, exasperated. She ended up getting up from her own seat and tripping over her own feet to follow the brunette.

 _This is wrong, this is wrong, this is wrong,_ she kept telling herself over and over. Her thoughts didn’t change the fact that her feet were still moving and her eyes were still focused on the boy just a few feet in front of her.

Not surprisingly, Adrien was quick on his feet. He ended up strolling through the main plaza where he and Marinette had danced together under the moonlight just months earlier. Under the evening sunset, though, he was absolutely glowing. It was pretty easy to see him from the place she and Alya were hiding; the big oak trees that lined down the path were within range of him and they gave them the benefit of hiding their faces without hiding him.

They saw that Adrien still had his duffel bag with him, and he kept adjusting it on his shoulder since it was way too heavy.

Of course, Marinette knew this because she had once bet Adrien that her stuff was much heavier than his, seeing that she carried around a lot more things as a female dancer than he did. He scoffed, saying that she could give carry his bag if she wanted to, but he bet her that she couldn’t handle the weight. Needless to say, she accepted his wager. He passed over his bag to her and immediately when it was on her shoulder, she buckled under the weight so fast that he had to swoop in and grab it before she fell to the ground completely.

Adrien ended up walking over to a bench and set his stuff down beside him, digging inside of his bag for what looked like a small plastic bag. A bag of . . . birdseed? Yeah, it was birdseed because when he began to throw some on the ground, a small flock of pigeons began to crowd around him.

“Why does he carry birdseed with him?” Alya asked, thinking that Marinette would have an answer to the out-of-the-blue thing happening in front of them.

“Hey, don’t look at me; I’m just as clueless as you are,” she said, holding her hands up in front of her defensively.

Is that what made his bag so heavy? Tons of birdseed in addition to other mysterious objects?

The girls didn’t have too much time to ponder the scene unfolding before them because Adrien packed the birdseed back in his bag, zipping it up and slinging it over his shoulder once more.

They moved onto the next tree when he began to move again, but paused when he did as well.

Adrien stopped in front of another bench that was seating an old lady and he began to chat with her, her sweet face lighting up.

“So he’s skipping practice early to feed birds and talk to little old ladies? That’s what’s so time sensitive?” It still wasn’t making sense to Marinette, and Adrien wasn’t making the dots any easier to connect.

“Wait for it,” Alya simply said, her fingers tapping against the tree’s wood.

Soon enough, Adrien waved goodbye as he continued moving forward, looking as if he was going to leave the plaza. Marinette and Alya quickly began their chase once more, keeping Adrien within distance, but also far enough that he couldn’t see them.

“Wait for what?” Marinette whined, looking between her friend and her crush.

Alya didn’t need to say anything in response. With her own two eyes, Marinette saw a sleek, black car pull up to Adrien and he opened the side door. He shoved his things into the back seat and shuffled inside as well; the car didn’t even wait until he was completely inside to drive away.

Startled, Alya began to run after the car and Marinette jogged behind her, stopping only when her friend stopped to see the car fading in the distance.

“That was a little too . . . weird,” Alya mused aloud, rubbing her chin in thought.

“Oh well, we can’t follow him now – I guess we should go home too, oh boo hoo,” Marinette fake-fretted, openly relieved that they didn’t have to spy on her dancing partner anymore.

Alya was silent for a few seconds before finally saying something, her voice booming so loudly that it scared the hell out of Marinette.

“We’re not done; give me your phone,” she said tersely, holding her hand out for the object.

She hesitated before handing over her phone, a little afraid to question Alya’s tone. Immediately, she began to ferociously tap on the keyboard, her attention totally focused on the task at hand. Whatever that task was.

“You have Adrien’s number, right? And he has the same phone as you?”

“Yeah. To both things. What do you need it for?” Marinette said warily.

“Well, you know that app ‘Track my Friends’?” she didn’t look up from her typing.

“Yes, but what does that have to – oh, oh no, absolutely not! We are _not_ going to take this a step further and track him with that app!” Marinette reached out to snatch her phone back, but Alya was even quicker and held it away, looking at her friend in all seriousness.

“We’ve already gotten this far! Why not?” She waved the phone in the air and pointed at it, telling her that this little thing wasn’t a big deal.

“Exactly, we’ve gotten this far. We need to stop. This is such an invasion of privacy and it’s . . . it’s . . . it’s rude!” Marinette crossed her arms over her chest, looking at Alya apprehensively.

“What’s rude is that he keeps on leaving practice early and hasn’t given you a valid reason for it. Come on; aren’t you curious? I know you are. He’s even showing up tired and tripping over his feet, too? Girl, I’m surprised you haven’t done this yourself.”

Again, she hated to admit it, but Alya was right. How many times was Alya going to be right before the world came to an end? Besides, she was genuinely worried for Adrien’s health if he kept showing up to practice like he did.

“If this app didn’t exist, I bet you would have dragged me with you to follow him,” she said weakly.

“Maybe, maybe not. I do have standards you know; it’s getting too dark outside to keep up with him,” Alya replied with a smirk.

With another sigh, Marinette signaled for her to keep on searching and with a satisfied hum, Alya went back to work. Within a few seconds, she had pulled up a map. He was the little glowing dot that was surrounded by sparse houses with loads of trees in between each one.

“That’s Neuilly-sur-Seine, where all those stuck-up rich kids live. Is that where he lives?” Now Alya was the one who sounded wary as she passed the phone back to Marinette.

“No, he lives a few blocks from here, actually. What’s he doing all the way out there?” she wondered, looking up from the phone to Alya.

Adrien didn’t live out there, and before two weeks ago, he didn’t have any reason to be out in Neuilly-sur-Seine.

What was going on?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for posting this at unholy hours lol i just spent the whole day unpacking basically
> 
> im going to try and update at least twice a week now that im out for summer break! we're also pretty much at the halfway point for this fic, i just need to figure out the logistics before making the total number of chapters definite
> 
> anyway, sneaky girls following a sneaky boy; i wonder what they'll find? ;^)


	14. back lock

Trying not to think about the previous day’s events, Marinette began to practice the quickstep with Adrien in her dance studio.

Well, okay, it was pretty hard to forget what had happened yesterday. Marinette had so many questions: who did the black car belong to? Why was he in Neuilly when he didn’t live there? What was he doing out there that was so important they had to cut practice short for two straight weeks? Everything was buzzing around in her head and she had so much to ask Adrien and she could. He was right in front of her and he couldn’t deny her answers when everything was cutting into their time.

But then wouldn’t he ask her how’d she know all those things? Was she following him? Didn’t she trust him? Marinette wasn’t sure she was ready for his own questions, and that was what prompted her to keep her lips clamped shut even though she wanted to talk about this more than anything.

Turning back to the task at hand, Marinette decided that they needed to work on this particular move for their quickstep routine. By connecting tidbits from their broken conversations from the past few days (which admittedly wasn’t a lot), they had decided on working on how to incorporate a hover corte into their spin and twist variation. But whenever it seemed like they were making progress, Adrien’s eyes would become unfocused. His feet would misstep, but Marinette would brush it off, hoping that he would realize his mistakes quickly. He did of course, but then it would happen again.

At some point, Adrien stumbled really bad on his two feet and she was driven more into his arms. Marinette looked up and saw that same unfocused look in his eyes again.

“Hey, are you okay?” Marinette was trying to fight the simultaneous feeling of embarrassment from being too close to him, and worry because he was tripping over his feet. The latter won out over the former.

Adrien blinked. “Yeah, I’m fine – why do you ask?”

Was he joking?

“If. . . if you haven’t noticed, you’ve been tripping over your feet. We can end rehearsal early if you need to go home.” End rehearsal early _again_. But she wasn’t as upset about it knowing that Adrien could go and get some rest.

He shook his head madly, the ‘no’ just as audible even if he didn’t say it. “No, no; we can keep going. It’ll be fine. I’ll be fine.” Shaking off his stupor, Adrien clasped Marinette’s hands in his own and began to move into a cross chasse.

“I don’t mind,” she lied, “We can pick this back up tomorrow.”

“We’ve already wasted too much time, we have to keep going,” he insisted through gritted teeth, his grip tightening.

Not soon after the words left his mouth, Adrien’s eyes began to droop and his body slackened. Marinette didn’t have any time to react when he toppled her over, his body completely on top of hers.

“Oh my god! Adrien? Can you hear me? Are you breathing?” Marinette was in full freak-out mode, trying to shift her off of him. Despite his size, he was much heavier than he looked.

Was he unconscious? Was he dead? _Was he at least okay_?

When she was able to move him so that his body was facing up, her hands fluttered around his hands, his arms, shoulders, until her fingers felt over his neck. She placed two fingers beneath his jaw and felt his heart beating which made her relieved. But why did he –

Marinette was startled out of her thinking when she heard him snore, his arms thrown haphazardly around him. She rolled her eyes.

Here she was, thinking she was going to be the bearer of bad news to Mr. Agreste, but Adrien had passed out and fallen asleep during practice. She didn’t know which was better or worse.

When the panic finally wore off and her heart stopped beating erratically, she adjusted Adrien so that he was at least sleeping comfortably. She looked down at the boy whose head she had in her lap. Marinette noticed that his eyelashes were ridiculously long, long enough to brush his cheeks, which were still a little pink from exertion. How could he look so calm and serene after passing out and falling on top of her?

Even though her heart had stopped pounding out of fear that something bad had happened to Adrien, Marinette could still feel her heart fluttering in her throat. How did this boy have such a hold over her? He could probably ask her if she would go to competitions in the United States with him and learn a whole bunch of different routines, and she would do it without thinking twice.

The thing was, it wasn’t that she would do it because it was Adrien; she would do it because she believed in him, his ambitions, and believed that he believed in her. He had something that just totally captivated her.

And looking at his mouth as he breathed, she wondered how it would feel if he pressed his lips to hers.

Marinette shook her head, her face blushing a subtle pink. Now wasn’t the time to think about . . . things like that. It was starting to get late and she couldn’t exactly leave him here.

She felt terrible, but she left him sleeping on the floor to look through his duffel bag for his cellphone. Maybe she could call his father and he could send someone here? She could at least wait with Adrien in the meantime.

Adrien’s phone didn’t have a lock on it (but after her snooping, he probably should), so she was able to easily find the number she was looking for and dialed it, holding the phone close to her ear.

He wasn’t answering after a few dozen rings, and at this rate, the dance studio was going to lock them inside if she didn’t think of something fast. With a glance at Adrien, she made a quick decision. Marinette slipped his phone back into his bag and dragged it across the dance floor (it was still heavy, and she wasn’t surprised). When she gathered all of their things, she fished her purse for her own phone and clicked the first number on her speed dial. The other person picked up the phone after a few rings.

“Papa? Yeah, practice ended early again. Could you come pick me up? I need your help. I’ll explain everything when you get here.”

 

*

 

Adrien felt as if it were only a few minutes later when he finally woke up, his eyes groggily opening to the sight of soft lights.

He rubbed his eyes, trying to clear away the gunk sticking his eyes together and he yawned, feeling content at the small catnap that he took. Soon, that satisfaction turned into confusion as he felt the material beneath him – cushion and cloth. A couch.

Was there a couch at Marinette’s dance studio? No; even if he couldn’t remember it right now, he was positive that something as comfortable as this wouldn’t be in any dance studio.

Looking around him, Adrien saw that this definitely wasn’t Marinette’s studio – white walls were lined all around him, and although there were wooden floors, it wasn’t the kind of wood that was in the dance studio. This floor had everyday wear and tear that any other floor could expect. Modern white and pink curtains were placed on each window, interchanging from being pulled up or pulled down. A set of stairs were to the right of him, as well as a tall white lamp. The place was small, but it had a homey feeling to it nonetheless.

It wasn’t the studio, and it wasn’t his house – so where was he?

“Oh good, you’re up,” Marinette said, walking towards him from the kitchen. She held out a cup of water towards him and he took it gratefully, drinking all of it in one gulp.

“Where are we?” Adrien held the cup in his hand, taking in all of his surroundings. As different as it was, he really did like it.

“My house, actually. Now that I saw your place, I guess it was time you saw mine,” she said dryly. In all honesty, this wasn’t the way she had hoped he would visit her house. She would have preferred for him to be conscious.

“I want to ask why I’m here, but I have a vague idea,” he confessed, putting his face in his hands. Was he . . . embarrassed?

“If that idea includes you falling asleep while we were practicing, then you’re spot on,” she teased him, seeing how he looked up at her between his fingers.

“God, this is so embarrassing. I can’t believe I fell asleep.”

“Literally,” Marinette added.

“What?”

“Adrien, you _passed out_. On top of me. You fell asleep and you fell on top of me.” Marinette was trying to explain herself, but her words only made Adrien’s eyes widen.

“Really?!”

“I’m surprised you didn’t feel it. Then again, you were asleep for three hours,” she added nonchalantly.

“This is so mortifying! I’m so sorry Marinette, for everything; you having to take care of me, sleeping in your house for so long. I was so careless, but I promise it won’t happen again,” he sounded distressed, placing his hands on top of hers.

Marinette looked down, but this time his touch wasn’t reassuring.

“Adrien,” she began, “it’s not that I’m concerned about whether or not it’ll happen again, but I’m worried that you’re pushing yourself too much.” Marinette turned his hands so now it was her grasping his.

“Marinette, please don’t worry about me. I’m fine,” Adrien insisted.

She sighed. “No, it’s not fine. It hasn’t been fine for the past two weeks. Please, tell me what’s wrong. Something has got to be bothering you if you’re leaving practice early.”

“Nothing’s wrong. And if there was, I can take care of it. I’ve always taken care of it.” Adrien gave her a small smile, but she felt the falseness of his words hiding behind his teeth.

She pursed her lips, looking into his green eyes with her baby blues. He avoided her gaze, even when she tried adjusting her grip on his hands.

Why couldn’t he trust her with what was going on? She . . . she really cared about how he was doing, even when they’re not dancing together. He didn’t need to push himself, and if it was too big of a hassle to balance whatever he was doing with being her partner, then she would gladly stop being his partner if that was what he needed.

“You don’t . . . trust me?” Marinette whispered, the hurt so palpable in her eyes and touch that Adrien flinched. His intention was never to hurt her, or make her feel like he couldn’t trust her.

Adrien hesitated before the words spilled out like water being blocked by a dam.

“I do,” he said, “I do trust you. You deserve to know. The past few weeks and even longer, actually, my dad’s been having me practice with different girls for an upcoming gala.”

Marinette blinked, taken aback. That wasn’t what she had expected at all.

“Different girls?”

“Dancing partners, really. I’ve been trying to find one, but we’re just not clicking, no matter who my father puts in front of me. I can’t find anyone and I’m getting so tired, Marinette.”

Marinette whispered an apology and a reassurance for him to continue.

“Why does he want you to find a partner for the gala? Isn’t showing up enough?”

“My dad has to throw a party and he hates them, but he has to have one every once and while, you know? Being the president of this huge fashion industry and all, it’s expected. So he wants there to be some sort of entertainment and what better than his own son?” Adrien said bitterly.

Marinette’s eyebrows knitted together. She grazed the back of his hand with her thumb as a sign of reassurance. He looked at her and nodded before continuing.

“Well, he wants me to ‘demonstrate the dancing skills I’ve accumulated through the years with hard work and money’.” Adrien put air quotes around his father’s words. “He calls ballroom dancing a ridiculous sport and basically wants me to show that his money and my practice are paying off.”

“That’s so not fair! It’s mean of him to put you on display like that,” Marinette said without thinking. She hoped that he hadn’t interpreted her words the wrong way, but he simply shrugged, completely unbothered.

“So there isn’t a way for you to get out of it? This isn’t worth it if you’re risking your health like this,” she felt like she was nagging, but he had to listen to her now more than ever.

Adrien shook his head before she could even finish her sentence. “He won’t let me compete otherwise. The only reason I can dance is because of him,” he replied miserably.

“Wow,” she breathed.

“I’m so screwed. It’s this Saturday and I still don’t have a partner yet,” he groaned, putting his face back into his hands again.

Marinette pursed her lips, unsure of how he would react if she did what she was about to do next. Marinette just didn’t like seeing him so distressed – she couldn’t recall the last time she had seen him like this.

“I could be your dance partner, you know,” the words tumbled out of her mouth. She hoped that he wouldn’t laugh at her.

He looked up from his despair, his eyes becoming round with surprise. “Really? It wouldn’t bother you?” Adrien’s voice was so full of hope that it hurt. Did he really not consider her as an option in the first place?

“I don’t mind at all! I’m just surprised you didn’t ask me first,” she laughed, trying to play it off, but her words were faintly veiled her interest.

“It was _my_ problem; I didn’t want to involve you in something that’s not as important as the competitions we compete in.” Adrien sounded so honest that she realized his tone insinuated that he _had_ considered her. He just hadn’t considered his problem big enough to come to her.

“I don’t think it’s trivial, Adrien. You’ve been carrying this stress alone and that isn’t okay. Besides, we’re partners through thick and thin, right?”

There wasn’t anything she wouldn’t do for him.

Adrien’s breath caught in his throat and he leaned over, enveloping her in a hug. Marinette paused before accepting his warmth, her heart full of want as she buried her nose in the crook of his neck. He had hugged her before, but it felt nothing like this. This hug was so full of kindness and thanks that it left her breathless.

She wished she could stop time at this exact moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sporadic updating is the w o r s t my bad y'all but i'm gonna kick my butt to do my best, even with work and stuff
> 
> love y'all <33


	15. center

But life doesn’t work that way.

Too soon, Adrien let go of her and Marinette felt a cold rush of air flow between their parted bodies. She wanted to latch onto him, to imprint his scent into her brain, but she needed to stop being so creepy and give him his space.

“Don’t stress about it too much, by the way. We only have to do the waltz and foxtrot – it’s supposed to be ‘classy’, or so my dad says.” Here Adrien rolled his eyes, his easy-going demeanor returning. Marinette never realized it had even left in the first place. But now that she thought about it, Adrien had been pretty solemn the past few weeks.

“I’ll be fine. You, however, need to worry about yourself and go home. Rest. _Please_ ,” she emphasized, earning a laugh from him.

“I will, I swear! And I’m not lying this time – I don’t have to worry about the gala so much now that I have a partner,” he grinned.

“Well you’ve always had one,” she murmured, her mouth curving up in response.

“Marinette! Dinner is ready! Bring your friend too while you’re at it,” Marinette’s mother called from the dining room.

“Coming!” she shouted in response. She turned towards Adrien, her face lighting up with expectancy. “Would you like to have dinner with us humble Dupain-Cheng’s, Young Agreste?” she teased, wagging her eyebrows. He rolled his eyes in return.

“I should at least grace you with my presence,” he replied sarcastically, standing up from his place on the couch. “Are you sure your parents wouldn’t mind?” This time he sounded a little shy and it made Marinette’s smile become even bigger, if that were possible.

“Not at all! And you heard my mom; we would love to have you. Besides, my parents have been dying to meet you.” Marinette got up from her own spot and walked towards the dining room with Adrien in tow.

“Ah, Marinette could you finish setting up the table? And you must be Adrien. Welcome to our home,” Sabine said warmly, walking over to Adrien and giving him a hug, much to his surprise. When she pulled away from the boy, she gave him a sun-filled smile as she patted him on the shoulder.

“Nice to meet you Mrs. Dupain-Cheng,” he said, reflecting the warmth that the woman had in her own voice.

“Please, call me Sabine.”

“Yes, of course Sabine.” Adrien was still feeling a bit awkward, but as Sabine began to chatter about dinner and what she had planned for dessert, he had begun to warm up to Marinette’s family. She peeked at him as she finished placing the bowls by the four placemats.

“Adrien! How are you?” Tom’s voice boomed as he strode towards Adrien, holding out his hand for him to shake.

Adrien took it, his movements a bit hesitant, but Marinette’s father then used his hand to pull him forward into another hug, patting the younger boy on the back.

Marinette laughed – hopefully he didn’t think her family was too weird for being really affectionate.

Her father let Adrien go and he doubled over, even more surprised at the strength that the older man seemed to hold.

“Thank you for taking the time to eat with us – we know how busy dancing can be. Sometimes even Marinette forgets to eat, but we make sure she eats so her stomach doesn’t growl in the middle of the night. We can hear it,” Marinette’s father winked, causing Marinette to roll her eyes at her mouthy father.

“Hush up and help me serve the soup, Papa.” Marinette passed him the Bouillabaise soup and he began to ladle spoonfuls of it into the bowls. It was made up of seafood, tomatoes, onions and garlic; as smelly as it was, it was super delicious.

With everyone’s help, they served the Tartiflette (potatoes and cheese), and slices of steak with basil, parsley, and an assortment of veggies. She didn’t know what Adrien ate on the daily, but the food here was making Marinette’s mouth water.

“This all looks delicious,” Adrien sounded totally honest as he looked at all the food placed in front of him. There was so much of it he didn’t know where to start.

“It’s not a five-star meal, we can say that much. But you can never go wrong with a home-cooked meal.” Tom smiled at Adrien as he speared a potato with his fork.

“This tastes better than a five-star meal, trust me,” Adrien replied with steak stuffed in his mouth. The Dupain-Chengs laughed.

“Thank goodness,” said Sabine, sipping some of her soup.

Seeing everyone being so kind and carefree made Marinette’s heart feel so light. It just felt right to be sitting down here, having a family dinner with Adrien who probably didn’t do much of this at home. The thought of him being alone like this saddened her for a split second, but the conversation made her forget her troubles.

“Marinette has told us so much about you, we hope we haven’t come off as too friendly. We’re just surprised she hasn’t brought you here a lot sooner,” Sabine chatted, nudging Marinette and giving her a sidelong glance.

“Sabine’s right – if Marinette hadn’t said that you were her dance partner, we would have thought that you were her boyfriend or something,” Tom added, looking between his daughter and her friend.

“Papa!” Marinette gritted out, her face flushing. Why were they exposing her like this? It was mortifying! And Adrien was surely embarrassed at being called her boyfriend.

Jeez!

“It’s fine, Marinette.” Adrien laughed. “If I would have known your parents were so kind, I would’ve been here much sooner.”

Marinette’s parents lit up like Christmas trees; of course Adrien could charm himself out of this awkward situation.

The rest of dinner was spent talking, laughing about mishaps that had happened in the last week, and other little things that came up. It felt like a real family and Marinette was thankful that Adrien had decided to sit and have a meal with them. The last time she went over to Adrien’s house and ate, it was nice when they talked, but she had to admit that it felt awfully quiet and lonely. Right now it was the total opposite – the room was filled with a constant stream of chatter that Marinette wasn’t sure it would ever end.

That wasn’t true, of course. As the dinner and eventual dessert were cleared from the table, it had become late and Adrien had to go home. Everyone helped bring all the dishes to the kitchen and sink, and Marinette walked with Adrien outside as they waited for his chauffer to come pick him up (the lives of rich people still seemed so surreal to Marinette).

“Again, I’m really sorry for falling asleep on you,” Adrien apologized, running his hand through his hair. He still had a slight case of bedhead.

Marinette shook her head, a small smile on her face. “Don’t worry about it. But if you really want to apologize, get a good night’s rest.”

Adrien nodded and he glanced to the left of him to see that same black car from yesterday pull up beside him. “You’re right. I’ll talk to you tomorrow?”

“Definitely”

“Good night, Marinette.”

“Good night, Adrien.”

 

*

 

Now that Adrien didn’t have a reason to leave rehearsal early, they were able to connect and work on their routines much better than they had been able to for the past few weeks.

“I’m glad he finally shook off whatever funk he was in,” Mabé murmured under her breath as Marinette stretched her arms.

“What?” Marinette replied, startled. Had Mabé also noticed that there was something wrong?

“Agreste’s dancing was just so . . . static. Anyone could’ve spotted it from a mile away.” Mabé chuckled and shook her head before turning back to the clipboard in her hands.

Marinette blinked. Was he really that transparent? To Marinette it seemed pretty hard to tell what he was thinking, but he had no problem sensing when there was something wrong with her. If Mabé was able to see when something was wrong with Adrien, did that mean Marinette was more transparent than he was?

All of the questions whirring around in her head were making her dizzy, and she had to pause for the briefest of moments to gather her bearings.

“You ready to finish up?” She heard Adrien call out to her.

Looking up to see his expectant arms waiting for her, she felt her mind fall silent. It didn’t matter – all that mattered was right now, and they still had a routine to work on before the gala.

Cleaning up the last few bits of their foxtrot routine, they were all set and ready for the gala that was only a day away. It would have been impossible to put together a cohesive routine in time for an event so close by. But they pulled it off somehow, and their efforts were going to pay off soon enough.

            When they had agreed that their routines were clean and sharp enough to perform them in front of crowd, they decided to finish for the day and had begun to pack up their things.

“Does your dad know that I’m your partner?” Marinette undid her shoes and tried to act nonchalant, but truth be told, she was actually a little fearful of the older Agreste and his reaction to her being Adrien’s partner for the gala. The only time she had met him was in his home and all she could feel was dread.

“Of course I had to tell him; I wasn’t going to go out to Neuilly again and he would want to know why.” Adrien sighed, sitting down on the ground and untying his own shoes.

“And?”

“And what?”

“Well, what does he think about it?” Did she really have to spell it out for him?

Adrien paused. “He wasn’t ecstatic about it, but he wasn’t pissed off either. So really well, I guess?”

Marinette glared at him as he threw up his arms, not knowing what else to do.

“At least I’m being honest!”

“Yeah, okay,” Marinette replied sarcastically.

“It’ll be fine – he won’t be like this forever.”

As he stood up, Marinette began to think about the gala besides the dances they were going to do. What was the theme for it? What kind of gala was it? Was it fancy, or casual? She supposed it would be pretty fancy if a fashion CEO was throwing it.

“Oh, before I forget; what should I wear? I want to make sure I have something in my closet for it.” A total lie. If the party was as fancy as she was imagining it to be, there would definitely be nothing good enough for it.

“You wouldn’t have forgotten to ask because I have this,” he said, opening up the zipper on his duffel bag and fishing out a clear plastic bag hiding a dress within it. Adrien handed it over to her, and Marinette looked at it as if it were an alien skin.

He prodded her to open it up and look at it. Returning Adrien’s pushy look with a dubious look of her own, she shuffled the bag off of the dress and looked at the dancing gown shimmering on the hanger. It looked as if were made out of starlight.

“Where did you get this?” Marinette whispered, turning it over in her hands. It was beautiful.

“I was looking for a new suit and I stumbled on it. I thought that maybe you would like it,” he said, sounding absolutely casual about it. Who just stumbles on a gorgeous dress like this?

“And it’s in my size?” Marinette looked at the tag on the inside, being taken completely by surprise. Okay, he better has had a logical explanation for this.

“Your tag was sticking out one of your competition dresses,” he replied smugly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You sneak,” Marinette said, sounding less annoyed and more in awe. Of course he would be able to catch little details like that. What else had he noticed about her when she wasn’t looking?

“How much was it? If it’s a lot, you better take this dress back to the shop or so help me.” Now that she noticed, there wasn’t a price tag on the dress at all. He probably anticipated that she was going to snoop around for a price since she was the kind of person that absolutely hated expensive gifts.

“That doesn’t matter,” Adrien said, waving away her concerns.

“Doesn’t matter? Adrien –”

“You don’t have time to find anything else since the gala’s tomorrow,” he cut her off, taking the dress and slipping it back inside the bag before returning it to her upturned hands.

“Fine, fine,” she grumbled. Her eyes were drawn to how the purple and midnight blue material seemed to glitter under the fluorescents.

“And before _I_ forget, I also got you these new heels since you’ve been complaining about the ones you’ve been using,” Adrien said, gesturing from the heels in his hands to the heels hidden in her duffel bag.

“No no no, now I really can’t take these. Really, Adrien? I can’t,” she whined, pushing back the heels whenever he pushed them towards her.

“Think of these as a thank you for saving my behind. Marinette it’s no big deal, really,” he insisted, wrapping her fingers around the straps of the black heels.

This was too much, way too much! He didn’t have to give her all of these things – she definitely would have been able to find some dancing dress in her closet, as dingy as it might have seemed compared to what everyone else would be wearing. She could have even sewn a little something last minute.

But he said they were gifts of appreciation; she couldn’t say no to him or his kindness.

“Thank you,” she said, the words rushing out her mouth. She didn’t know what else to do so she ran out of the studio.

Behind her, she could hear Adrien’s bright laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to the person who asked about Adrien in the Dupain-Cheng household - they love their not son-son


	16. syncopation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Adrien was finally able to tell Marinette about his concern of not finding a dance partner for his father's upcoming gala, Marinette offers herself as a possible partner. Grateful for her kindness, Adrien buys her a new dress and shoes for the event. The night of the gala is now upon them - what will happen on this night under a thousand stars?

Marinette wasn’t sure if it was a blessing or a curse when the day finally arrived. She knew that they would do fine, that she had done worse in competitions where the lights were too harsh and the floors too slick, but still. Just thinking about the fact that she was going to be performing for Gabriel Agreste in Adrien’s own home still made the butterflies flutter in her stomach.

A majority of Saturday passed by in blur - the morning was spent rehearsing in her dance studio, sans Adrien, since he had to prepare for the gala. In the afternoon, she went home to help her parents out with orders until it was time to get ready. The day had been exhausting, but Marinette was still bursting with energy.

Adrien has offered to drive her to his place, but she had insisted that he had already done so much, especially with the dress. He texted her the address instead, leaving the offer to drive her there embedded in the directions. Rolling her eyes, Marinette typed the numbers and letters into a map app on her phone. She had assumed that it wouldn’t take too long to get there - the last time she had gone to his place it was about fifteen minutes (biking, even) between there and the studio.  

As she approached the too-familiar mansion, her eyes were drawn up, up, up, to the bright lights pouring out of the open doors and windows. In the distance, she could hear the accented chatter of the upper class. She couldn’t really make out the details from far away, but the people pouring in and out of the place looked much fancier than she was used to. Even the cars parked close by - Lamborghinis, Porsches, and other fast, expensive cars she didn’t even dream of recognizing seemed so otherworldly to her. It actually made her begin to sweat as she was chagrined in her own humble car.

The further Marinette drove, the more she began to realize that there wasn’t anywhere for her to park. Even though Marinette thought she left her home at a pretty reasonable time, there was quite literally, no parking within immediate distance of his place. Trying not to run her fingers through her fashioned tendrils, she settled for gripping the steering wheel in frustration.

“Shoot,” she muttered, regretting not taking up Adrien’s offer to drive her there. How was she supposed to know that it was going to be this full? Well, the more she thought about it, she realized that blunder was on her; Gabriel Agreste was ridiculously famous for Pete’s sake. And of course, these rich people wouldn’t have to worry about parking their cars themselves when they could rely on valets.

After about ten more minutes of driving around, Marinette was able to finally squeeze herself into a parking space hidden underneath a drooping tree. She sighed, the mansion’s lights now only twinkling instead of blazing like before. She stepped out of the car, her eyes and ears immediately drawn to the clacking of her heels on the pavement. It wouldn’t be too bad to walk barefoot for a few feet, would it? It wasn’t even a debate; she needed to last as long as she could in those shoes.

The closer she made her way to the mansion, the quicker her heartbeat thudded inside of her chest. She had been to Adrien’s place before, but it was different when it was awash in the glow of evening. It seemed surreal; men in tuxedos that looked expensive and tailored to them, and women wearing dresses that were probably worth as much as Marinette’s home. Accidentally spilling something on them would probably put someone in years of debt.

Would it be bad manners to throw up on Adrien’s doorstep?

The looks she was garnering from the other guests were definitely not quelling the uneasiness in her stomach. Why were they staring at her so much? Didn’t they have something else to do, or hors d’oeuvres they needed to scarf down –

When Marinette felt a sharp rock jab against her heel, she suddenly remembered. Of course they would give looks to someone who didn’t have any shoes on. Duh, Marinette.

Slipping the heels back onto her feet carefully, she squared her shoulders and clacked her way up the steps before she could even second-guess herself and go straight home.

Marinette’s breath was absolutely taken away.

If the outside of the mansion looked fancy, then she was completely unprepared for the inside. Taking advantage of the wide-open spaces of the entrance/lobby, tables and chairs were set up and swathed in cloth so white they reflected her face. The place still seemed as sterile and cold as she had first decided it to be, but it felt right, now that it looked as foreign as it appeared. Looking up, Marinette saw the windows encircling the ceiling and felt as if the universe stretched out in front of her.

Yeah, foreign.

Slightly shaking her head to disperse her thoughts, Marinette decided that now was probably a good time to look for Adrien. Luckily for her, she didn’t have to look around for long. As soon as her eyes left the windows and darted to the staircase in front of her, she saw Adrien paused on a stair, speaking to a man with salt and pepper hair. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and did a double take.

Blinking in surprise at his sudden reaction, Marinette raised her hand to shyly wave in response.

Oh boy, he _really_ wore a suit well. Like, really well.

He had his hair slicked back, a single tuft refusing to be held back by the loads of hair gel he probably had to put in, but it didn’t make him look any less dashing. Wow, she wondered how running her hands through his strands would feel like –

God! Could she be any weirder? Get it together, Marinette!

Taking long strides to reach him, Marinette didn’t notice, even though Adrien did as he walked towards her, how the crowd surrounding her parted like the red sea. Those years upon years of dance had equipped her with an impeccable posture and grace that was incredibly cat-like. Also, the dress that Adrien had given her was too beautiful. Heartbreakingly so.

A combination of purple and midnight blue that reminded her of the universe she had looked at through the glass earlier, the dress was positively ethereal. From the waist down it glittered, like constellations had been hand-sewn into the fabric.

Adrien paused, almost as if he was afraid she was going to disappear if he got any closer.

“Oh wow Marinette, you, um, you just, ah, you – ” was Adrien Agreste _stuttering_?

“It’s really interesting how you did up the place; do you always have parties?” As Marinette closed the distance between them, she gave him a small smile.

Adrien sighed, appreciating the out she was giving him to avoid looking even more like a fool.

“Interesting is definitely right. Dad doesn’t really like throwing them, but when does, they’re pretty swanky.” Adrien’s eyes scanned the room again, all-too familiarized with the glitz and glam that came with being born as an Agreste.

Just as Marinette was going to open her mouth and thank him again for the dress, their short conversation was cut even shorter as the older Agreste made his way towards the pair.

“Adrien. Miss Dupain-Cheng,” the coldness in his tone made her heartbeat break into a brisk jog. “Hopefully you two are well prepared. Your performance will begin shortly. I ask that you are observant of the time.” Giving one last extended look at Marinette, he turned on his heel and stalked away from them, leaving a freezing atmosphere in his wake.

If Marinette hadn’t been so caught off-guard from his voice (and not been so frightened to actually talk back to Gabriel Agreste), she probably would have scolded him. How dare he call what they do “a performance” in that tone? What they did was literal art! Not to sound pretentious or anything, but the amount of rigor, and training, and _patience_ they had to endure to be even half as good as any A-Rank professional was mind boggling. How could he completely disregard that?

Before Marinette could _really_ rile herself up and have actual steam pour out of her ears, Adrien shifted a bit closer to her to murmur conspiratorially in her ear. Now her heart was beating faster for a completely different reason.

“I’m really sorry about my dad and his attitude; I’ll talk to him later and make sure it doesn’t happen again.” Adrien sounded almost breathless with disbelief. Marinette could feel a blush weasel its way across her cheeks. Why did her face _betray her_?

Finally registering his words, Marinette’s eyes widened and she waved her hands in a ‘no’ gesture. “Please, don’t worry about it! I don’t want to cause any problems, really.”

His green eyes locked with hers. “I still don’t think it’s right the way he’s been treating you – ”

Marinette eyes hardened a little with resolve in response. “Honestly, it’s fine. Don’t stress yourself over it.” Mustering some calm from inside of her, Marinette gave him a tiny smile.

He blew out some air between his teeth but ultimately nodded, accepting this informal truce. For now, at least.

A waiter scurried over to the two of them, pausing just a few feet in front of them. “Your father has requested that you report to your position on the dancefloor immediately – your performance will begin soon,” he said, giving a curt bow before hurrying back to his duties.

“Tell him I’ll be there I guess,” Adrien replied to the retreating figure, exasperated. “I swear, my dad is incapable of asking me for anything.” He rolled his eyes.

Marinette felt a surge of empathy. “At least the dance will be over soon, right?”

He looked over at her, his features softening. “Yeah, at least there’s that.”

Ignoring the way her heart soared at his look, she playfully nudged his arm, telling him to curve it so she could slip her arm in. Grinning, he held it out courteously and she grasped it like he was a lifeline. Together, they strode to the center of the floor as the people around them made their way to their seats, or at least outside of the designated dancing circle.

Gracefully moving out of his arm so that they could be in their starting position, Marinette felt with familiarity the warmth of Adrien’s hands on her back and hand. He was like sunlight, soaking through her dress and encasing her body in gold. Faintly, she heard the music fade in.

And so, they began.

The magic whenever she danced with Adrien never faded. As he spun her around, his long, elegant moves shifting through her as she stepped and moved in response felt even more assured. This particular waltz felt both normal and unlike anything they’d danced before. Maybe it was because this wasn’t a competition they were trying to win. Rather, it felt like they were defending their dance – their art – against one specific pair of eyes.

Even though there was the move of hesitation in their choreographed routine, there wasn’t any actual hesitation in each other.

As the waltz melded into the foxtrot with its promenade steps and basic weaves, their routine ended all too soon. Adrien spun her out and they bowed, the tips of their fingers still touching, as they faced the polite but rigorous applause. Raising themselves from their curtsies, Marinette and Adrien looked at each other, pride rolling from them in waves.

Under the chandelier’s lights, his emerald-colored eyes glinted, and Marinette could see herself reflected in them. They were so bright, so mesmerizing. She pursed her lips, thinking through what she wanted to say when a group of men probably in their late forties and early fifties strode over to congratulate Adrien for his performance. From the way that they were speaking to him, they were probably Gabriel’s co-workers and higher ups; she couldn’t interrupt that conversation even if she wanted to.

“Adrien my boy!” A man with a thick gray mustache bellowed, clapping a hand on his back. “What an amazing routine! You and your partner were absolutely dazzling. Say, have you met my María Elena? She’s a beautiful girl about your age. . .” As the man pulled Adrien away from the dancefloor, the rest of the men surrounding him walked along with them, chiming in with the names of their own daughters.

“Oh, you _must_ meet Rosemarie . . .”

“My Madeleine is such a charmer . . .”

“Genevieve? She also dances, you see . . .”

A small crowd of girls trailed behind them, embarrassed at their fathers extolling their virtues yet nevertheless interested (i.e. positively swooning) over the confident and sophisticated Adrien Agreste.  

No one really paid Marinette any mind.

She wasn’t angry or disappointed about it; dancesport kind of made you anonymous unless you really stood out or had any fans, so this wasn’t anything new to her. The farther the crowd moved away from her, the more her eyes were drawn to Adrien. He was taking the attention pretty well, charming his way through the awkward, date set-up conversations even though she could tell he felt uncomfortable.

He never looked back at her, though.

As she stood alone on the dancefloor, she felt as if she were worlds apart from the rich men who were chatting up Adrien, who was also. . . rich.

Looking down at her dress and rubbing the fabric tentatively between her fingers, she could feel her throat swell up with the realizations that were bombarding her brain. The two important ones stood out the most to her, but her surety didn’t make the feelings hurt any less.

Number one: she really, truly, and unabashedly was in love with Adrien Agreste. That one didn’t hurt. Not really. It was the second one that wanted to crush her with dread:

Adrien could never love her back.

How could he, when she could never reach his world?

He was in this impenetrable sphere, always around these affluent people with their rocket cars and sugar suits. Adrien never made it a part of his personality, but seeing him still _thrive_ in this environment despite his discomfort left her without a doubt in her mind. Marinette, a humble girl with humble dreams who came from a family of bakers – how could someone like him fall in love with someone like her?

Marinette suddenly stopped playing with her dress and immediately wished she had vomited outside of the mansion. Turning around the scene unfolding in front of her, Marinette pressed a hand to her lips and walked briskly towards a set of arches she hoped would lead to the bathroom.

She felt like she was going to stain the marble floors with her thrown up heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wooahhhh thank you sososo much to everyone that has still been waiting for me to update!! i am eternally grateful for your patience. im trying to get back into my writing groove; college really sucks that out of you omg. but anyway yes!!!! love you all!! <3


	17. expression

When something nudged in the back of Marinette’s throat, she didn’t think it was actually her heart, but the pasta she’d had for dinner earlier.

Pressing her hand to her mouth, she tried not to make a scene as she half-ran out of main room, not noticing the brief flicker of Adrien’s eyes in her direction. 

Marinette knew she would feel much worse if she threw up in the Agreste’s home, even more if anything fell on the dress Adrien had gotten her. The eyes of some of the partygoers lingered on her distressed form, wondering why she was causing such a scene in the home of such an esteemed designer. She didn’t want to care what they thought, but the shadows of their eyes were crushing her, as if her realizations weren’t crushing her enough.

She had to find a bathroom, _now_.

Her mind couldn’t keep up with all of the lavish decor surrounding her, but she did feel like the huge columns curving around the room were caving in on her. Marinette knew that her distressed mind was playing tricks on her, but she thought she was going to pass out. 

At least the thought was short-lived, however, when she finally found what she was looking for, the restroom door hidden by an assortment of potted plants. As she wrenched the door open, she was relieved to finally be able to gather her bearings; the bathroom, about the size of her bedroom, was covered by marble from floor to ceiling. To the right of her was a toilet and shower, its dry glass doors indicative of its lack of use. Right next to it was a bathtub sitting in front of a window, the moonlight trickling into the tub. To the left, a long counter with two sinks were lit up by a series of lamps attached to a long horizontal mirror. She didn’t even look at herself, knowing how much of a mess she must look like.

Nothing seemed to be coming out of her mouth anymore, thankfully, but her body was taken over by tremors. Marinette pressed her hands on the cool marble framing the sink, and she almost wanted to put her face on it. Taking deep breaths, she turned on the faucet and patted cool water on her face and neck, but she couldn’t stop shivering. She finally looked at the reflection in the mirror, seeing her eyes rimmed red with unshed tears.

“Stop it,” she whispered.

How pathetic could she be? Pining after a boy who was so out of reach it was laughable. And now she couldn’t keep it together? At a party of all places? She should have felt overjoyed that Adrien invited her to dance with him, and have a good time together! She was glad that he brought her, but it didn’t change how she felt. 

This warm feeling flooded her whenever she thought about him . . . about them. She knew she felt something for him after they had danced Piazzolla at the club. Marinette scrutinized every moment before and after that. She couldn’t help imagining touches and sensations between them. His hands gently clasping the curve of her back, his fingers brushing stray strands from her messy ponytail, his mouth pressing –

Marinette splashed more water on her face.

They were just dance partners! On a mission to the Grand Prix! He couldn’t . . . he didn’t have time to think about her that way. Not now, and probably not ever. It should have been a comforting thought to know that his eyes were on the prize, just like hers, but it only made her chest ache.

“What am I going to do,” she murmured, closing her eyes and letting the water droplets rest on her face.

“Going to do about what?”

Marinette’s eyes snapped open, her heart beating like it was trying to burst out of her chest. Did she just play out her whole crisis in front of a stranger? Not a stranger, she began to realize; that voice was eerily familiar.

She turned her head towards the doorway. Standing in front of the door shut behind her, Chloe Bourgeois was dressed in a pale yellow form-fitting dress. A necklace that was probably worth more than the Dupain-Cheng’s shared car clung to her neck. It was just another reminder of how much she did not fit in.

Marinette briefly remembered catching sight of her in the crowd during her panic. She wasn’t sure if her mind was playing tricks on her, so she let it slide, thinking it was just a figment of her stressed out imagination. A wave of bitterness swept over her, disappointed that she wasn’t right.

Chloe’s eyebrows were raised, waiting expectantly for an answer.

“Nothing,” Marinette finally replied, looking back down at her hands and shaking the water off of them. This was the absolute _last_ thing she needed, Chloe taunting and teasing her. Marinette didn’t have the energy to fight back. She locked up her muscles, bracing herself for the onslaught.

Instead, Chloe didn’t say a word as she strode towards Marinette, her fingers grasping her chin and turning the dark-haired girl’s face towards her. Whatever she saw in her face, it seemed to confirm Chloe’s suspicions as her eyes softened with something Marinette didn’t know what to make of.

“I can see it in your eyes. And honestly, I don’t blame you,” Chloe said, and it was then that Marinette understood what it was.

Pity.

Marinette took an abrupt step back, her voice catching in her throat.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Marinette said. She wanted so badly to shout the words, to wipe that look off of Chloe’s face, but she felt so afraid. Marinette could feel her voice closing in on itself.

“Don’t play dumb. As if that lost puppy dog look that you gave Adrien wasn’t enough, when you ran out of the ballroom I knew you had feelings for him.” The words were probably meant to sound mean and accusatory, but Chloe spoke them as if she were speaking to a child. It made Marinette want to lash out even more.

 _Feelings for him_ – the words ricocheted inside her brain, threatening to overtake all of her senses. Why was Chloe confronting her about this? What did she know that Marinette didn’t? How could she even say that Marinette had feelings for Adrien when she could barely admit that to herself? Frankly, this wasn’t any of her business, so why did she have to give her an answer?

Instead of asking her those questions, Marinette could only respond numbly with: “Why does it matter?”

Chloe blinked, not expecting the retort. “Because it’s going to ruin you, that’s why.”

Now it was Marinette’s turn to blink. 

“Ruin me? What are you talking about –“

“That’s besides the point,” Chloe cut her off, waving her hands in front of her face to end the thought. “What’s important is that boys are dumb, and Adrien isn’t an exception. He’s so charming that he can make anyone fall in love with him. It’s just how he is.”

Marinette couldn’t understand what she was saying. Did Adrien shamelessly flirt with people because he knows he could get away with it? That just didn’t sound right to her. With every passing minute, Marinette was getting increasingly frustrated with Chloe and the way her words were messing with her head.

“Look, it just doesn’t sound like Adrien to play with people’s hearts like that.”

Chloe’s eyebrows furrowed. “No, it’s not – I’m not making myself clear, am I?” Chloe took a deep breath to recenter herself. "Adrien is completely oblivious about his effect on people. They fall head over heels for him, and he has no clue. They never end up hating him, though. How could they? He’s too kind.”

Marinette couldn’t believe how uncruel her words were. The way that Chloe was looking at her and the awkwardness of her tone, making Marinette wide-eyed with disbelief that these words were actually coming from her made Marinette realize that Chloe was being achingly honest. As if she was only looking out for her.

Marinette wasn’t sure if it was making her feel better or worse.

She didn’t know how to respond, the whole situation being unfamiliar territory for her. It would’ve been easier if Chloe had come in, words drowning with rage and glaring daggers at her. At least she would have known how to deal with that. This, though . . . this she didn’t know what to do about.

Pushing past Chloe and her momentary kindness, Marinette rushed out of the door, her skirts rustling against her storm. She had to get out of there. Away from the too bright lights, the reflective floors, the strange way that Chloe was acting. The blonde girl’s words were now rushing to her head, Adrien’s charm and ignorance, and the thing that Marinette didn’t get to ask Chloe more about: 

_It’s going to ruin you._

Ruin her? What did that even mean?

Marinette didn’t get to probe the thought further as Adrien was now coming towards her, light emanating from his face. His hair was a bit more mussed now than she had last seen him, but he was still incredibly handsome. Her heart squeezed inside her chest again.

He looked sheepish. “Sorry for leaving you like that. Whenever I’d try to shake one of them off, another guy would come swooping in like a vulture.” Adrien laughed, rubbing the back of his neck.

Marinette felt a surge of shame. Here she was, trying to escape his mansion and he had been trying his best to get back to her. 

“Don't worry about it! Really, it’s not your fault,” she said.

“I still feel like I need to apologize for leaving you alone, though. I know it’s late, but are you hungry or thirsty or anything? There’s still plenty of food left over, and if you don’t like anything here, we could go to the kitchen,” Adrien said. The corners of his mouth quirked up, his eyes gentle. He was trying his best to make her feel comfortable. Was her uneasiness really that palpable?

“I think I’m just going to head on home. It’s pretty late. I feel like I’m going to fall asleep on my feet,” she tried to joke, a small laugh escaping her lips when Adrien rolled his eyes at her. She wasn’t going to let him forget anytime soon how he passed out on her.

“Very funny. But seriously, are you feeling okay? I couldn’t find you at first,” he said, his voice suddenly turning serious. 

Marinette looked down, trying to muster as much lightness into her voice. “Yeah, I’m fine,” she said. Her eyes flickered from his eyes to the space right above them. 

“Marinette . . . “ his voice warned, unconvinced with her reassurance. His left hand twitched to reach out and touch her own. 

She moved her hand to grip her arm instead. 

Marinette closed her eyes and took a deep breath, focusing on her next words. She was alright. Even if she was in love with him and knew that he could never love her back. That there was nothing more to the electricity she felt between them because she was projecting. He could always find another person like her, and she would survive. There was no reason for him to worry about her. She would be okay.

Marinette slipped her hand from her arm and instead briefly touched Adrien’s, a gesture of consolation.

“I'm alright, honest.” Marinette smiled, her words ringing with an air of truth that she almost convinced herself that her words were not false in the slightest. Almost.

Adrien breathed out in relief, but his face was shrouded with something Marinette wasn’t sure of. Skepticism?

Marinette lightly squeezed his arm and turned around, making her way to the front doors. Her movements caught Adrien off-guard and he quickly stalked to keep up with her.

“Can I walk you to your car at least?”

Marinette’s legs faltered for a second before she slowed down her pace. “Sure,” she said. 

She hoped he hadn’t misinterpreted her hesitation as rejection. Actually, Marinette wanted to make the walk to her car alone and clear her head, but it would’ve made her look worse if she had turned Adrien away. At least for right now she could calm his worries.

Marinette and Adrien left the glitter and swank behind them, the massive doors framing the light from the chandeliers and sounds of glasses clinking and upper class conversation. Marinette was glad to be rid of it, the atmosphere making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up in defiance. 

In the distance, she could hear the deep reverberations of the the city’s bells, signaling the hour of midnight. When she walked down the stairs, she felt a little like Cinderella, her dress sparkling like starlight as it billowed behind her. At least she wasn’t leaving a slipper behind, and her prince didn’t have to look for her. He probably would never have to look for her.

Marinette’s heels clacked on the pavement, and Adrien’s dress shoes kept up an easy pace beside her. Their steps were the only sounds surrounding them, and it made the silence echoing between them much more deafening. 

“I had a lot of fun,” Marinette said finally, trying to fill the void.

One of Adrien’s eyebrows shot up, his face emanating doubt. Marinette couldn’t help but laugh at his expression.

“Fun isn’t exactly what I’d call my father’s galas,” he replied easily, his step becoming less calculated and more smooth and lazy. 

“I guess _you_ wouldn’t think they’re fun, but I think it’s interesting to see what rich parties look like. That people like that have lives on the weekend” she said, her lips curving up into a smile.

Adrien seemed taken aback, his eyes resting on her with curiosity. Marinette looked up at him, the lines of his jaw and his suit illuminated by the moonlight.

“What?” She queried.

“I’ve never thought about it that way,” he murmured.

Even with this conversation, it didn’t fail to remind Marinette how truly _different_ they were. Though they found each other through dance, there was a distance between them. Adrien was so used to living the life of ten families, his wealth almost never-ending. Of course he wouldn’t see his father’s galas as enjoyable since he grew up attending them. Performing in them. Marinette was unfamiliar with that kind of luxury. 

“Well I’m glad you had a good time,” Adrien finally said, ruffling his hair boyishly. 

Marinette’s eyes softened. He had a way of making things fall away until it was just him, a boy who only wanted to dance. Not the heir of a multi-million euro corporation. 

All too soon, they reached her car. It looked like a shadow of the more expensive and sleek cars surrounding it. The low-hanging tree obscuring the vehicle made it even more shadow-like. Hopefully it would let her leave silently like one.

Marinette tilted her head up and saw how her dress bled into the night sky. She felt Adrien next to her look up as well. The stars glittered zealously, and Marinette swore that she saw those same constellations in Adrien’s eyes. They were absolutely beautiful.

Without wasting more time, she unlocked the car and Adrien opened the door for her, always the gentleman. She shot a look of gratitude to him. She started the car and rolled down her window in a smooth motion, looking up at Adrien.

“I'm really grateful that you helped me out like this, Marinette. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to thank you the way you deserve.” He smiled. Even in the dark, she was blinded by him.

“It's no problem – that’s what friends are for,” she said. It felt like something was fracturing inside of her.

“Still, thank you.” 

Marinette’s hand was resting on her unrolled window and he took it in his own hands, pressing the lightest of kisses on her knuckles. Her breathing hitched.

“Drive safely,” he said. Adrien let her fingers slip out of his, breaking the spell.

“Goodnight,” Marinette murmured.

As she pulled out of the space, she didn’t even turn on the radio, instead letting herself sit with her thoughts. She wasn’t lying when she told Adrien that she had enjoyed herself. Dancing with him was exhilarating, and she felt beautiful in the dress he gave her. She did feel overwhelmed, though; Gabriel Agreste’s eyes seemed to be tracking their every step, along with all the partygoers. It wouldn’t have felt too unfamiliar to Marinette had it been just a regular competition, but knowing that they were the only dancers on the floor and that their eyes weren’t judging them with trained gazes, but critical derision made her feel so small. Her loneliness at Adrien’s disappearance and her sudden realization about him made her breath catch in her throat. It was all happening so fast, and she wasn’t even given time to process it. Chloe’s interruption and declaration about Marinette’s feelings didn’t let her come to that conclusion on her own. It frustrated her. Even now, when she had the entire car ride to think about everything that had happened to her, Chloe’s words echoed inside of her, sounding a warning. That Adrien was going to ruin her.

There was no way that gentle and friendly Adrien Agreste was going to ruin her – how could he? Not intentionally, no way. Marinette remembered what Chloe told her about Adrien’s absentmindedness. The way that Chloe talked about it, it was like she knew firsthand how totally unaware Adrien could be when he made someone fall in love with them. How they couldn’t hate him, because he didn’t understand what it was that he was doing. Marinette’s mind reeled, thinking of all the moments they had together; the tender looks, the kisses that were as soft as a moth’s wing, but all platonic. He never showed that he was interested in her that way.

She almost understood how Adrien was going to ruin her. 

Almost.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u for your never ending patience <3
> 
> I also think I know how/when this story is going to end, so hopefully I'll be able to put up how many chapters are left soon; keep a lookout!


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